


A Wolf in the Fold

by gatekat



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, OC centric, Plug and Play, Spark Sex, Twincest, Voyeurism, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 71,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dead Story.  Bayverse.  OC centric.<br/>It a last act of defiance to oblivion, the Allspark sends fragments of its energy around the planet it found itself on, seeking out those who will carry on its purpose. While a world built on biological life warped that energy, it held dear to the intent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Steps

**Author's Note:**

> Second story in the fandom. Questionable OC centric. You have been warned.

The ripple of heat waves and airborne sandy dust obscured vision for the human guards, but not for the Autobots' sensors. So Ironhide was understandably startled when he caught sight of an eight meter tall Cybertronian frame shimmer into existence out of nowhere not far from the main gate. He turned fully, activating his arm-cannons and radioing the others on base when he didn't recognize the tall bot walking towards him.

It wasn't Mirage.

It wasn't the only Cybertronian that could go invisible.

"Stop right there!" he bellowed in Cybertronian, charging for the entrance, even as it registered that the intruder had stopped just shy of the main gate, and before he'd demanded it. "Identify yourself!" he continued as he skidded to a stop and the mech took a couple steps back. Tall, with a medium build, no apparent weapons and more human-like hands than normal. The remains of a finish that had once been dark auburn, now sanded down by the environment were evident to his optics. No obvious indication of faction or alt form.

It set off all sorts of warnings for the old soldier.

He could hear several sets of running footsteps coming up behind him; Prime, Ratchet, Jazz, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker from the sound of the steps, or wheels in Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's case.

The intruder's faceplates held a confused look, a bit of visible nervousness, just a touch of fear. Hands raised by his head and held flat, palms towards him in a decidedly human gesture of submission.

"He won't answer," Ironhide told Prime in Cybertronian as the taller mech walked up and they both took measure of the newcomer that was between them in height, and close to Prime in build.

"Do you have a designation?" Optimus asked in English as he stepped in front of his weapon's specialist to assess this stranger, already sure he was another human turned Cybertronian. They thought they'd found them all, but he'd acknowledged months ago it was impossible to be sure.

The stranger paused briefly, put off balance by the wording.

"Nightshade," a female voice came from the unknown, speaking English, her optics locked on Optimus. "I am not your enemy."

"I do not see an insignia," Optimus considered her, and how poorly matched frame was to voice. Looked like a mech, spoke like a femme, and had been born human, a race with a far stronger gender association than his own.

"I do not have one, Sir," she spoke softly, with just a bit of military bearing in the background. Her optics flicking between the various mechs and humans present but always returned to their leader. "My history is not very normal," she said, trying not to fidget and only partially succeeding.

Optimus nodded. "Come," he motioned her forward as he turned around to walk with her onto base when she moved to join him. He considered her, working up a list of things to compare with Jazz and Prowl later. "Male or female?" he asked.

"I was female," she looked down at her body, and at those around here. "These have gender?" she cocked her head at him.

"We do not in the way bio-forms do," Ratchet spoke up, his normally grouchy tone eased for the newly rebuilt human's sake. "There are frame-forms and programming cores that are associated with mechs and different ones linked to femmes. It is not for reproduction."

"Ah," Nightshade nodded. "I'm guessing I look like one and sound or something like the other?"

"Ya look lik'a mech, talk lik'a femme," Jazz confirmed. "I'm Jazz, by'th' way."

"Sexiest car on base," Nightshade chuckled, earning a brilliant grin from the SpecOps agent. "If I look like a mech, that's the part I'm inclined to play."

"Play?" Optimus quirked an opticridge plate at Nightshade.

"Poor choice of words?" Nightshade glanced over. "Mech is what I'll be? I'm assuming it's something of a choice, given a mechanical body and mixed signal this one is giving."

"My apologies," Optimus said quickly as he led him inside one of the hanger-height buildings that served as their home and headquarters on Earth. Jazz and Ratchet stayed close, and Prowl joined them while Sideswipe and Ironhide drifted off. It amused him slightly to know the formation that had formed around their visitor, and he took note of the shift in Nightshade's steps, matching his stride perfectly and placing him in a position to have some chance of escape, even if it was only to run forward. "We are still learning about humans and their gender identities."

"I'm not a typical human that way," he admitted. "Or a lot of ways."

"Fixing your vocal processors to a lower tone is easily done during your physical," Ratchet promised. "I'll record you as a mech."

Optimus nodded. "How old are you?"

"Umm, thirty-six, Sir," he blinked his optic covers in an all-too human gesture. "Eight months like this."

"How'd you come to be like this?" he asked, softening his voice. He took note of Major Lennox and Sgt. 1st Class Epps joining them, though the human leaders of the join force remained quiet. Most of their efforts on keeping up with the much longer strides of the robots.

"I was in Mission City when you fought," Nightshade began, earning a grunt of understanding from Ratchet as she confirmed suspicions. "I got up that morning a thirty-five year old human woman. By dark, after a lot of screaming, running, thrashing, inventing curses about pain and periods of unconsciousness, I was this."

"That was eight months ago. Why wait so long?" Jazz asked with an easy grin on his face.

Nightshade responded with a small smile when he glanced Jazz's way and saw it.

"Partly in finding you, partly recovering and working how what the fuck happened and the rest working out whether the company and knowledge was worth it. You're at war," he answered almost bluntly. "That's not a choice to make without some kind of research."

"You studied us?" Prowl spoke evenly, causing Nightshade to turn and take steps backwards to look at him as he spoke.

"Most of four months, I think," he hesitated slightly. "Even with the new timekeeper attached to my brain, I don't keep time well," he explained as he turned around to walk forward again. "It took a while to find you, longer to decide I wanted to do."

"How did you avoid the patrols?" Prowl asked, all business and more than a bit tense. The idea that they'd been under surveillance for four months and didn't know it did not settle well with him, or any of them.

Nightshade let out a rush of air from his vents, his pump rate spiking to Ratchet's finely tuned sensors and his neural net activity went off the charts. Privately, he was sure this one had a femme's core programming, and definitely had a large chunk of human female mannerisms, but that was a debate for a much later time. If she wanted to be recorded as a he, it wasn't his place to argue yet. They didn't know enough about the conversion process to be sure what it did to the humans.

"I only know how to do it, not explain it," Nightshade said.

"Do what, exactly?" Jazz took over, trying his best to keep the conversation friendly as long as possible. He knew this mix of signals too well from the twelve they'd already begun to train. They couldn't afford to scare him off, and he was sure he was one perceived threat away from bolting despite how they met him.

"Being invisible, sort of," Nightshade did his best to explain and get his reaction under control. "I can still see myself in a reflection, still interact with objects, but people, sensors, apparently even yours, don't seem to register that I'm there. Couple months back you stood within a body length of me and watched the sun set with a full moon out. An hour, maybe more. If you knew I was there, you didn't make any indication of it," he looked at Jazz, curious about it.

"We were that close?" Jazz's mouth opened briefly in surprise. He'd be getting ribbed for _that_ for vorns to come. "I didn't," he admitted, and made a note to himself about learning how to counter it, and recruiting this one to his team, not necessarily in that order.

"I froze, tried not to twitch, even my ... urr ... whatever my heart and breathing are now. You have no idea how grateful I was when you wondered off. It was easier than it used to be, but still decidedly unpleasant. Last time any of your ... our kind ... got that close he tried to kill me."

"Did you see him well enough to recognize him?" Jazz asked and took a couple slightly quicker steps to come even as Prime dropped back to let him take over.

"Oh hell yeah," Nightshade growled. "We got very up close and personal."

Jazz nodded and added that to the list of things to check on later. "So how much do you know about us?" he asked, his voice crafted to a happy, friendly one that most responded well to.

"Some names, a couple ranks. You work with or for the US. Which was the deciding factor. I may not be in love with my country, some things royally piss my off, but the bottom line is that I'm an American," he said, then sighed through his vents again as his gaze dropped to the floor ahead of them. "I was an American. If this brain works like my human one, I'll forget that in a few years, tops."

"Forgetting is normal for you?" Jazz looked curious and Ratchet looked worried, at least to those who knew him.

"Pretty much. Data sticks, to an extent. People, places, experiences, not so much. Names are the worst," he shrugged, his attention back on everything around him. "I may fight like hell to avoid change, but once it happens," he shrugged again. "It's the new normal and the past just fades away."

Jazz nodded, understanding that he already possessed half of a truly spectacular undercover agent's nature. If he could teach Nightshade to come back from the new place, to reset to himself when the mission was over...

~One step at a time, love,~ Prowl's ever-practical mind reminded him over their bond. ~He's skittish.~

~He's afraid of you.~ Jazz replied. ~Probably that emotionless mask you like to wear.~

"That's Prime, your leader," Nightshade paused for corrections and received none. "The big black guy that charged me at the gate is Hide."

"Optimus Prime and Ironhide," Jazz supplied. "He's grouchy about the nic."

"Right. Ironhide," she repeated with a quick nod. "I would prefer to avoid meeting the little green and orange pair for as long as possible."

"Skids and Mudflap," Jazz said, and received a grateful smile in return.

"Why?" Optimus asked.

"Even at a distance they're irritating," he tried not to growl, only to glance around at the general chuckles of agreement.

"The yellow one with the blades is Sunny, and the red one he's always with is Sides," Nightshade continued.

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe," Jazz nodded. "The terror twins," he chuckled. "Real practical jokers," he smiled. "That's Prowl, don't let the perpetual stone-face get ta ya. He cares about us, a lot. The glow-in-the-dark guy is Ratchet, our CMO."

"The guy actually in charge of things," Nightshade chuckled lightly, earning a surprised grunt from Ratchet.

"Finally, somebody who respects the profession," he muttered.

"Eighteen months USMC. It feels like three lifetimes ago, but some things stuck," he half-explained. "You learn early and well to be nice to the medics."

"You were military?" Major Lennox spoke up, prompting the robots to look down him and Sgt. 1st Class Epps.

"Once," Nightshade nodded faintly, touch of pain in his voice as he looked at the pair in the cammies and strait postures and instinctive matching of steps. "My body couldn't do the job, even if I could."

"Who were you then?" he persisted.

"Irrelevant now," he countered with a sharp shake of his head. "She's quite dead."

"It went that badly?" he tried to sound sympathetic, and in a way he was. He could understand the grief of being discharged because of injuries. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd do with himself if he couldn't be this anymore.

Nightshade shrugged. "I survived. It's the least of my issues right now. Right now I'm far more interested in what I need to do to stop my power levels from dropping."

"Energon," Ratchet said, causing him to turn around and walk backwards again to focus on him.

"Which is?" he prompted.

"Liquid energy," Jazz gave the simplest answer.

"I'll explain fully later," the grouchy medic promised as Jazz tapped the access code on a panel on the wall next to the outline of a door. "I have the full briefing in my office. You aren't the only one this happened to."

"Nice to know, I think," Nightshade murmured as he took in the room when the door slid open into the wall. One way in, one way out. A large oval table with a dozen mech-sized chairs and a section on one side near the door that seemed to be for humans to join in. A conference room, he was sure. "If you have it written in English with a linked glossary, that would be best. Gives me a chance to understand partway before the lecture. At least let me get a grip on the vocab first."

"It'll be ready," Ratchet agreed. "We can cover what you don't understand tomorrow."

"Sit anywhere," Jazz gently ushered him into the room, watching with carefully concealed intensity as Nightshade surveyed the space in a single sweep of his optics and chose a seat to just the to the left of the head of the table. Not only almost as far from the door as possible, but the place next to where Prime would typically sit, and the one with the best command of the entire space and the obvious danger - the door.

Prowl's and his preferred spot.

With carefully subtle hand signals he placed everyone else around the table. Prime on the right of the head, across from Nightshade but not actually opposite him. Prowl and Ratchet were to Prime's right on the far side, and the humans on their platform at the door end of the table.

He felt Nightshade watching him move as he got energon for everyone, and the humans poured coffee for themselves from a dispenser on their platform.

"This is energon," Jazz informed him as he set the cube in front of Nightshade. "If you start with a full charge, most can remain fully active for centuries without any, though it's unpleasant to go without more than a few days. Under normal conditions we'll drink one a day."

"Go slow," Ratchet added in a surprisingly gentle tone. "Some of the others had difficulty digesting full strength energon at first."

Jazz sat down on Nightshade's left, with a chair's worth of space between them, but not the chair. It gave the newcomer plenty of room to move, to not feel hemmed in, and to visibly change his focus the way he had in the corridors. He watched him relax, just a bit, as he studied the rich, shimmering blue liquid energy in the cube. Jazz was sure, from his more subtle expressions, that he didn't understand half of what his optic readouts were telling him.

So he wasn't highly educated as a human, though likely not poorly educated either. He spoke too well for it, and the military of the early nineties did require a moderate education. Quite possibly the rest was the same kind of semi-random learning they had from the internet and TV with a broad range of subjects but not a great amount of detail on any of them unless intentionally sought out.

Jazz tipped his cube to his lips and sipped slowly, catching Nightshade watching out of the corner of his optics, then more directly. Studying him, and not at all shyly.

The other former humans hadn't known how to drink energon from a cube at first either.

Nightshade made a careful effort to mimic him, and a bit of the potent fuel slid down his throat into his empty fuel tanks for the first time.

"Does it burn?" Ratchet asked before anyone else could react to the slight choking reaction. Nightshade nodded quickly and set the cube down, cycling air rapidly through the affected areas. "All right, don't drink any more full strength stuff for a while. I've asked First Aid to bring some of the diluted formula. We'll work you up to full strength over time."

Nightshade nodded again, then straitened. "I'm okay," he promised, his voice almost normal, and earned a deadly glare from Ratchet. "It wasn't doing me any good."

"Just when did you pick up _that_ habit?" Ratchet glowered. Any bot who's first reaction to pain was to shut down the signal was going to be the Pit to keep alive.

"Umm, as a human," Nightshade mumbled, sinking into the chair slightly in a motion of abject submission at Ratchet's apparent fury. "As a kid. Pain's just to tell you you're hurt. Once you know..." his voice trailed off at Ratchet's expression. "You didn't indicate I needed medical care for it, Sir," he made a desperate bid to sidetrack his reaction.

"Ratchet, give it a rest," Jazz interrupted the impending tirade. "He doesn't need medical care and he doesn't need to be in pain."

"True," Ratchet grumbled and settled down as the door opened to admit First Aid, carrying two cubes of light blue energon.

"These shouldn't upset your system, Nightshade," the junior medic said as he set them down.

"Thank you," Nightshade smiled and straitened up take a cautious sip from the new cube. "It doesn't burn," he assured the medic and CMO.

Jazz recognized the instant Nightshade's body realized fuel was present and sent signals to his processors demanding more, _right now_. His optics dimmed, half shuttered, as he struggled to control the demand he was processing as pain. It was enough to make his entire frame shudder and an unhappy whine escaped his vocal processor before Jazz could lean over and touch his arm in the way he'd seen human friends do.

"It won't usually be that bad," he promised gently and helped guide the cube to Nightshade's mouth. "Your systems're just overreacting to th' new input," he tried to be reassuring, privately pleased that Nightshade didn't wait for his explanation to being drinking again. Nightshade's entire body continued to tremble, a reaction he could understand all too well. He knew what was going on; post mission he could be returning to the first energon he'd had in decades sometimes. He'd learned that the signals just meant his body wanted energon. The first time though, it felt like his body was trying to implode in conveying its need.

By the time Nightshade finished the first cube, the tremors had settled and his optics had come fully on again. He set the empty cube down and picked up the second pale blue one, drinking it more slowly, barely more than sipping it.

"Okay ... where were we?" Nightshade glanced around the room.

"Lets start with you," Jazz smiled and relaxed back in his chair, pleased that Nightshade didn't react negatively to his touch or instructions. It was a good sign. "Do you have any loose ends to tie up in your human life?"

Nightshade shook his head, then paused. "I guess it would be helpful if she was declared dead, maybe a late-find casualty of Mission City? I already contacted the few friends she had, not that they knew it was _me_ , but they know she's not coming back. Still, seven years is a long time for my stuff to be in limbo."

"Most of it could be brought here," Jazz commented, earning an uncertain look. "We all have some keepsakes from previous lives and adventures."

"I'm going to need to think about that," Nightshade murmured. "Sometimes a clean break is best. It's not like I could possibly go back."

"You have time," Optimus promised. "You have clearly given some thought to joining the Autobots. Have you given any thought as to your desired role in the army?"

"I figured I'd be on the battle lines," he said with enough ease to surprise the humans there. "I am a good fighter, given how little training I've had," he said before taking a sip of energon. "Given the Decepticon encounter I had, I've got a body designed for it and instincts very well suited to it."

"Ever thought about intel?" Jazz asked.

"As in a spy?" Nightshade raised an optic ridge at him. "Doesn't that requires a _very_ good memory?"

"A faulty memory is one in need of repair," Ratchet spoke up. "It is most likely that your current difficulty remembering things is because you expect it, not because your systems are damaged. If they are damaged, I'll fix it."

Nightshade just stared at him, then laughed, shaking his head in real amusement and relaxed a bit more. "Something for you to check out," he grinned at him. "If you're right, it'll just be something else to get used to."

"How long did it take you to match name to bot?" Jazz asked curiously.

"Depends on who it was. It's still more color and height matching than actual recognition. Prime," Nightshade nodded towards him. "Was the easiest, between the paintjob and the fact that he came very close to landing on me," he chuckled lightly at the memory, as terrifying as it had been at the time. "I honestly thought that no one argued like that in the middle of a fight in real life.

"You and the human male in Mission City. About the Allspark, just before he shoved it up into the big silver one instead of down into you," he elaborated when Optimus looked slightly confused. "I was the crazy human edging around the building to get a better look."

"Why?" Prowl looked over, needing to understand the highly illogical action.

Nightshade graced him with a quirked optic ridge and amused, all too Jazz-like smile for it. "The big things thrashing around stood a good five to six times my height, and looked like more at the time. Even if I had a clear path, which I didn't, there was no way to get out of the way no matter which direction I went except by dumb luck. Live or die, it wasn't likely to be by my actions. So I went for the next best thing. I got a better look at the interesting things trying to kill each other in my neighborhood. I've never really been afraid to die," he added with a shrug.

"Why?" Optimus asked, concerned by such a mindset.

Nightshade cocked his head, considering him as he considered the question.

Eventually he shrugged. "I'm just not," his tone nearly held an apology. "I guess I've always believed that souls move on, that each body is just a temporary stop. It's hard to be afraid of something that doesn't mean much more in the long run as going to sleep at night."

"How sure are you of this?" Optimus asked, trying to place Nightshade's stated beliefs with an existing system on Earth.

"Sure enough my reflex when threatened is to fight," he answered. "It feels right, every time I say it or think about it."

"Where did you learn about this idea?" Jazz asked even as he transmitted the most likely sources to the others.

"Umm, the reincarnation idea probably came from Buddhism, or maybe fiction. It's common to both. For the details, that's just my head and trying to make sense of things. It's not any teachings I know of. It just works for me."

::New topic!:: Jazz buzzed the others, his transmission carrying the warning that this was an extremely delicate topic at best and explosive more often than not with humans, especially when it was believed enough to base reactions on. "Faith is important to everyone," he smiled. "How serious was th' fight?"

"Serious enough that we both crawled away, rather than walked," Nightshade muttered, his temper rising and reflective gold optics glowed brightly at the memory. "I don't know how long it took me to heal, curled up in that abandoned warehouse, but it was long enough I started to resent being still and largely numb."

"Okay, conversation over," Ratchet stood up. "You are coming to Med-Bay _now_ ," he pointed at Nightshade and then the door. "Just how many pain-warnings have you ignored in the past few months?"

Nightshade gave a bare glance at Optimus to be sure no one was going to contradict the CMO and stood to follow him. "After I healed, just the one today."

Jazz was on his feet, walking with him behind Ratchet without a second thought.

::Jazz, I think he's yours to bring up to speed,:: Optimus radioed him on a private band. ::He seemed to accept your manner best.::

::Yes Sir,:: he agreed without hesitation. Granted he had an unfair advantage, being specially trained to blend in and make friends, but not all the new Cybertronians had gravitated towards him. Actually quiet a few hadn't for any number of reasons, most of which he knew and agreed with. He wasn't the teacher for everyone, even if he did very well at being a friend, or at least comrade, to most. ::If what he said is true, he'll spend a lot of time with Hide too, and I think he likes Sides.::

::Sideswipe?:: Optimus was genuinely intrigued. He wasn't a bot that most gravitated towards, even if he had a better temperament than his yellow twin.

::Just something in Nightshade's reaction to him. If he's as much a frontliner as he thinks, and as built for speed as I think, they're a natural match,:: he explained. ::I'll bring ya upta speed when he's in recharge.::

::Understood,:: Optimus agreed before closing the line.

"So you'd say you're fully repaired and in good condition?" Ratchet looked back at Nightshade, taking a more careful look with his sensors. He couldn't be sure if he was lying, the pain sensors or receptors had been damaged and he was too young to know or if he just wasn't aware of what his systems _should_ be like, but there was still enough damage he should have noticed. Granted, it wasn't anything he didn't see the last time he'd scanned him, none of it was critical by any means, but that didn't mean he was going to get out of his Med-Bay in anything less than pristine condition. He'd wanted Nightshade in there first anyway, same as all the new bots.

"Yes, Sir," he nodded. "I think my throat's recovered too."

Ratchet grunted. Definitely something wrong with the neural net then. He'd reacted appropriately at the time, so the receptors and receivers were good, but there was no way the sensations should be gone yet if he'd checked, and he'd felt the system check he'd done in his sensors just before he spoke.

Nightshade was going to be as bad as Ironhide, if not worse.

~Need me to come keep him down?~ his bondmate's gruff thought, honest in his desire to help and tease, tapped on Ratchet's mind.

~No, I'm just fine,~ he snapped back easily, almost thoughtlessly. ~But Prime's going to have you test him out. He thinks he's a frontliner.~

A mental snort was the only reply.


	2. Simple Pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ratchet is finally done for the day, Jazz introduces Nightshade to two luxuries of the base: hot showers and soft beds.

"Ready ta escape?" Jazz grinned at Nightshade. "Th' Doc-Bot's done withya fer awhile."

"Very ready," Nightshade said, then cocked his head at his own voice, now much deeper and somewhat rumbling. "That'll take some getting used to," he mused as he got up from the med berth he'd been resident of for most of the afternoon, evening and a solid chunk of the night while Ratchet ran scan after scan and did minor repairs ... and griped about how ignorant Nightshade was for not knowing about the damage.

"It's'a strong voice," Jazz offered, considering the mech. He'd hung out for most of the exam, even when Ratchet had threatened him. Yet in all the information that had come of it, from scanners and chatting, nothing helped him understand why the Allspark had given a femme a mech's body, or why said femme had chosen to be considered a mech when changing the frame was well within Ratchet's capabilities. Everything he'd come to understand about human society, every single one of them, indicated gender was a core component with how an individual saw themself. Far more than with Cybertronians, and he knew his kind were far from immune to the quirks of gender perception.

"I think I like it," Nightshade agreed with a nod as he followed Jazz from the Med-Bay. "I'd really like to grab a few hours sleep ... recharge ... before somebody wants to do more processing, or is that now?"

"Sure, I'll show ya to your temporary quarters," Jazz nodded agreeably. "Or I should say, ta my quarters, that you'll be livin' in fer a few days. I'm kinda your guide to survivin' this crew, so Prime wants me ta stay close till you're settled."

Nightshade nodded. He didn't hide that he was startled, but past that, he couldn't find it in him to care. He'd rather expected an open barracks, and sleeping in their alt-mode. He'd done it enough in the past few months that it was an easy idea.

"After months of sleepin' in abandoned warehouses or in the sand, anything that resembles a bed is welcome," Nightshade quirked mouth components unused to smiling.

"We do have wash racks," Jazz said, glancing up at Nightshade. There was no missing the way he perked up in real interest. "Get all that sand and dust out of your armor."

"Now _that_ sounds wonderful," he rumbled deeply, his golden optics glowing slightly in anticipation.

"Then that's where we'll go first," Jazz promised. Though their destination was different, the path was not. The communal wash racks were centered in the middle of the living quarters. From the hall it was just another door, but inside was filled with steam and the rain of running water from one of the racks. Jazz groaned to himself when he realized Sunstreaker and Sideswipe there the occupants. He did not need this right now.

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe," Nightshade pointed to each mech in turn.

"Yes," Jazz nodded, noting the unusual pride that Nightshade had in properly IDing the two mechs. He held onto a small hope that Nightshade might not realize they were watching the twins in a very intimate moment under the water. It was very different from human mating after all.

The sounds of pleasure and need weren't, however, and Nightshade cocked his head at the unabashed pair, then glanced over at Jazz, silently asking if they should be there.

"If it doesn't bother you, the twins hardly care," he answered, hoping he was reading the other's body language right. He saw only mild curiosity in the newcomer, not embarrassment or desire. He was beginning to think the Allspark had chosen well in this one, as strange as some of his reactions were. Nightshade seemed to have settled into his new body and culture easily enough so far. Far easier than any of the others.

Far better than even Sam, who'd known them well before it happened.

"Doesn't bother me," Nightshade said easily and walked towards the corner rack.

"Warm or cold water?" Jazz asked as he reached for the controls.

"Hot," Nightshade shivered in anticipation, standing just outside where the spray would land.

Jazz nodded and worked the simple controls, setting the temperature towards the high end, but not nearly as hot as it could go. Without hesitation Nightshade flicked his hand under the spray, then waited a few moments before trying it again and stepping under the hard fall of hot water.

A slight shudder passed through the young bot's frame. His optics dimmed and shuttered halfway and a low sound, not unlike what the twins were making a few racks away, escaped his vocalizer.

It was by far the most extreme reaction to warm water than Jazz was aware of, but he held his silence as Nightshade shifted, turning and moving to get the water everywhere and wash some of the sediment from his body.

It made it all the more evident that the original paintjob, if it could be called such, was barely more than a primer coat and not something Nightshade cared about.

"To add cleaner to the water, press the green button," Jazz pointed to a control on the wall next to the small selection of wands and brushes used to clean harder to reach parts when you didn't have help.

Nightshade nodded and reached out to do as he was told, most of his attention still on the way the hot water felt coming down on this new body. He spotted the long-handled brush and grabbed it, going to work on his neglected body with a vigor that would have scratched half his paint off if he'd had real paint.

It nearly hurt to just to watch as far as Jazz was concerned, and he could definitely stand a distraction from the moaning, growling pair half a room away. "Nightshade, if you'd like a hand with some of that..."

"That would be great," Nightshade smiled at him in absolute gratitude ... and not a single thing more, much to Jazz's relief.

Whatever made this one not care about interfacing, Jazz wasn't going to question the Primus-given gift. It was not a subject for day one as a Cybertronian if it could be helped. Especially not at the level the terror twins took it to.

Instead Jazz focused on smaller tools and went to work cleaning out all the cracks and crevices on Nightshade's body. In time the youth would learn how best to clean his new body, but for now, the assistance would shorten the process by hours.

It wasn't long before Nightshade stilled under Jazz's touch. Low, throaty sounds rumbled from his vocalizer. His energy field flared and coiled, intertwining with the edge of Jazz's despite the spy's best intentions.

Privately, he was relieved that the twins had finally taken his death-threat glares and left. Nightshade didn't need their comments today.

"It feels good, doesn't it," Jazz said, trying to distract himself as much as Nightshade. He was sure the other mech had no idea what effect he was having, or the signals he was giving, much less that under normal conditions both were a blatant invitation for someone to 'face him senseless.

"Very," the larger mech murmured, his optics off and shuttered, his body nearly still as he willingly submitted to Jazz's much gentler, knowledgeable touch. "Almost as good as lying in the sun with a hot wind blowing over you."

"Ya like the heat," Jazz chuckled easily, carefully avoiding Nightshade's chest, groin and aft; places human females seemed required to keep covered, and therefore somehow inappropriate for general contact.

"It's been my only power up to now," Nightshade shivered, a light tremor sliding down his entire body, as memories mingled and played out, each one of them pleasant. "It feels very good. So does this," he added with a low sound of pleasure, almost lost in the sensations.

"Let me know if ah make ya uncomfortable, 'k?" Jazz said, and received a somewhat confused and very hazy look for it.

"I will," Nightshade promised before groaning again when Jazz worked up to his chest, getting sand out of all of the cracks and crevices their complex forms had.

Despite the way the young mech's energy field flared and tried to entwine with Jazz's, the SpecOps officer keep his reaction tightly controlled and continued to work. He was fairly sure that Nightshade was half into recharge on his feet, and the other half was lost in the pleasure of the warmth and attention.

Jazz guided the relaxed, half awake bot to his quarters. It was awkward, maneuvering a half-coherent mech two-thirds taller and over twice as massive through the halls, but Nightshade was trying to cooperate at least.

He nodded to Optimus when they passed in the hallway and gave his commander a smile of reassurance that everything was going well.

The door to his room opened with a databurst from Jazz, and he helped Nightshade into the small space. It wasn't really designed for a bot as big as the newcomer, having been custom designed for its resident, but there was a suitably sized temporary recharge berth for Nightshade against the wall across from the permanent one Jazz slept on.

"Onto the bed," Jazz helped Nightshade over, and nearly choked when he was pulled down with the bigger bot and drawn close to the powerful frame. He could have gotten out, avoided the clumsy move, but he didn't want to injure the half-conscious bot either.

"Nightshade?" he asked cautiously, trying to figure out what was going on in the former human's mind. All he could tell was that the other was content and only barely had enough systems on line to be thinking on the most instinctive level.

Instead of an answer, Jazz felt a hand scratch his abdomen, and the other moved up to behind his helm to caress him with a similar motion.

With a private sigh he relaxed his frame and began shutting systems down for light recharge. He'd get to his own berth and deal with the arousal the last three hours had produced when his charge was completely out of it. Right now it seemed to be in both their best interests to allow the contact to continue. He could find out later where the response had come from.

An hour later Jazz brought his systems up to full functioning cautiously, not wanting to wake the mech holding him. The grip had loosened, relaxed significantly, and was now the easy contact of peaceful, deep recharge. Whatever had caused Nightshade to pull him down onto the berth wasn't the kind of possessiveness, or fearfulness, that lasted into recharge.

It probably wasn't rooted in either.

With his most gentle touch, Jazz carefully wove his energy field into Nightshade's and used it, and their physical contact, to access the human-turned-mech's upper memories.

The usual disorder of recharge was as expect, but the snippets were informative enough for a first scan. Sun, sand and watching them from the ridge.

Nightshade began to twitch, though he was still in deep recharge. Replays of whines, hunger and pain ran through his processors. The soothing of the sun. A flicker of his form, only barely recognizable except for how few silver Cybertronians were on Earth, mixed with fear and the tension of holding still against all instincts.

The twitching became more violent. Battle. A dark monster, no more recognizable than Jazz had been. Bitterness in his mouth Nightshade didn't understand but Jazz knew all too well; energon and mech fluid.

Pain, fury, the brutality and hot joy in a battle survived and an enemy left behind.

It wasn't unlike looking at one of Ironhide's memories of a hard battle. Faces, forms and details blurred quickly. Pain was largely suppressed. Fear was absent. The sharpest reminder was the savage pride in the victory of survival.

Ironhide would love this one as soon as they worked out how strong the other was.

He tried to sooth the other's memory replays, guide it back to the more gentle bits under the hot sun, and found Nightshade's processors unusually cooperative with the suggestion.

With Nightshade back in a calm deep recharge, Jazz extracted himself and went back to his berth for a few joor of real recharge.


	3. Field Testing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightshade is tested by the various experts to see how well he'll do in his preferred role.

Jazz was sitting at his desk in his quarters reviewing his least classified reports when he registered his charge's systems coming on line.

Audio first, then tactile, fine motor control, higher processor functions and finally optics. All without so much as a twitch to indicate awareness had occurred.

This one woke up like a spy.

He'd need to find out why very soon.

A fraction of a second later, every non-critical system locked down as he faded partly from view and from Jazz's other sensors. It wasn't the complete invisibility of Mirage, but it'd be very effective if you weren't looking right at him when he did it.

Jazz waited, watching in fascination as Nightshade assessed his situation, assessed him, probably accessed his memory banks, and relaxed, coming back into view.

"Welcome to the wakin' world, Nightshade," Jazz grinned over at the large mech. "Nice trick," he commented conversationally as Nightshade sat up and regarded him. "Rest well?"

"Better than usual," he nodded, still looking around the room. "Why do robots sleep?"

"We call'it recharge," Jazz chuckled, trying to present a relaxed, easy atmosphere for their new recruit. "Primarily to give self-repair systems time ta do their magic an' fix all th' little things, plus all the little processor and memory bank maintenance stuff. It also conserves energy and is a good way to kill time while Ratchet does his thing. Sometimes it's ta let ya internal power systems recover if ya strained'm."

"That ... actually makes sense," Nightshade mused.

Jazz nodded and shifted his chair to look at the larger bot more directly after subspacing the report he'd been reading. He saw optics snap to his hand and cables tense.

"What did you just do?" Nightshade's voice was low, a cross between suspicious and fixated.

"It's called subspacing," he brought the datapad out, then put it back. "Ya should be able ta learn how, it'll just tak'a while." He watched Nightshade process that, and apparently decide it was enough of an explanation for now. "So where'd ya name come from? Humans don't have names like that."

"Not many, anyway," he agreed. "Nightshade is beautiful, harmless-looking and very deadly berry. It just felt right to call myself that. I went through dozens of ideas before I found one I liked that I remembered in the morning."

"You hardly look harmless," Jazz quirked a grin at him.

"I guess its relative," he chuckled and tipped forward as a transformation began.

Jazz couldn't take his optics off the strange thing forming in front of him. Not much larger than Ravage had been, but far more like an Earth canine in design with long running legs and a sleek body designed for aerodynamics and speed rather than killing power. Bright golden optics looked up at him from deep behind a long, elegant muzzle. Large triangular ears swept up from a flat skull and twitched almost non-stop. Its tail was useless as a weapon, but had definite use for balance and high-speed turns by his estimation.

"That is ... unique," Jazz tried to work out what he was looking at.

"It's a coyote-Saluki mix," Nightshade chuckled, his voice light and feminine. "Or maybe wolf-Saluki. I'm not sure. She's all speed and long legs with plenty of teeth and pretty good digging claws."

"You consider yourself a femme like this?" Jazz cocked his head, half surprised when Nightshade paused, thinking about it as she returned the look.

"I'd have to say yes," she decided. "Base is male, wolf if female, warform is female."

"Warform?" Jazz was suddenly very interested. This mech in one form, femme in another was going to take some getting used to. The other human-Cybertronians hadn't been nearly so complicated. "Show me?"

"Not in here," Nightshade shook her head as she transformed back into the eight-meter tall mech. "She's much too large."

Jazz could only nod and motioned him to follow as he headed out of his quarters. He nodded a greeting to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and took note of the fascinated expression and blatant stare Nightshade gave the twins, and particularly Sideswipe's visible battle blades.

"So who's this?" Sideswipe grinned as he and his twin changed direction to tag along with the bot that was so openly admiring them.

"You were in the wash racks last night," Sunstreaker added after a moment.

"I'm Nightshade," he answered with a smile, his optics going over the twins in open admiration. "And yes."

"Not for a few weeks, boys," Jazz stopped whatever the twins were about to suggest. "Former human, new ta base. Mind your manners."

"Aww, come on Jazz. It's not like _anyone's_ complained yet," Sideswipe objected.

"What are you three talking about?" Nightshade looked between the twins his own height and the much shorter but higher ranked mech.

"Inviting you to spend the night," Sunstreaker grinned cheekily, a look that vanished with the blank expression Nightshade gave him. "Oh come on! I heard you moaning with Jazz."

"From the water, not what you two get upta. I told you he was new," Jazz chided the pair. "Now leave him alone."

"Right, yeah," Sideswipe gave Nightshade a last, bewildered look and the pair turned around, heading into the complex again.

"Am I completely off base in taking that to mean some equivalent of sex exists?" he looked at Jazz. "And those two are lovers."

"Yes and yes," he nodded as they stepped outside into the late afternoon heat. "It's not the way humans do it, but it has similarities. It's what they were upta in the wash rack last night."

Nightshade nodded, though Jazz was sure he didn't understand it beyond the statement.

"Umm, just how inappropriate was I last night?" he asked quietly.

"Not at all," Jazz said.

It earned him a skeptical look.

"I didn't ask ya ta stop," he elaborated as they walked and Nightshade took in the base from inside and ground level. "So ya did nothin' wrong. Ya did do a few things that others wouldn't have ignored, especially not those two. I knew ya didn't intend ta come on'ta me."

"I didn't," he confirmed quickly. "What shouldn't I have done?"

"It's mor'a matter of bein' careful who you're that ... relaxed around," Jazz chose his words carefully. "Controlin' ya energy field takes a lota practice. Not somethin' many bother learnin'. You're used ta having company when ya sleep?"

Nightshade paused, his optics widening slightly. "What the hell did I _do_?"

"Just pulled me into berth with'ya," Jazz gave a reassuring grin, or at least he hoped it was. Nightshade still looked mortified. "Ya were barely on-line," he tried again. "Who were ya with that liked their front rubbed?" he mimicked Nightshade's actions.

Nightshade blinked in surprise. "Cats do."

"Cats..." he paused, accessing the internet for information. "Ah, a small animal kept for pest control or company. You had one?"

"Something like that," he nodded. "I used to. It's been a couple years since I had to put Shadow down."

Jazz nodded. Small losses or large, they still hurt, and he didn't like the language of this loss. "So, ya warform?" he suggested.

Nightshade nodded and stepped away as his form shifted, each step in the transformation causing Jazz's optics to widen just a bit more. What had begun as a humanized Cybertronian mech standing eight meters tall transformed into an eleven meter tall humanoid canine _thing_ that Jazz belatedly identified as a monster of human myth. A werewolf.

How the Pits did this happen? He knew triple-changers existed. Megatron was one. One of only six he knew of. None of the other former humans had extra forms. Most didn't even have a weapon form yet.

But three forms, all based in the same myth, all three biologically based?

"Yeah, I'm a werewolf made mechanical," Nightwind spoke with a deep but definitely female voice that had a rumbling growl undertone.

"How did you acquire these forms?" Jazz managed to get his processor in order as he looked up at the creature nearly as tall and massive as Megatron, and emanated a similarly unsettling energy field. Whatever this was, it had a single purpose; slaughter.

Though he'd never admit it, Jazz was very glad when Nightshade transformed back to base mode before answering.

"As far as I know, I was born with them," Nightshade shrugged. "Or reborn, I guess would be more accurate. I had them in that first fight, only a few days after I changed."

"You didn't scan them?" Jazz let his surprise show.

"Not that I'm aware of," he shook his head, all his sensors on the surrounding base and making no secret that he was checking out everything that moved, and most of what didn't. "The big one _couldn't_ have been scanned. They don't exist. Even the little one, no canine is that large."

"So you're up," Ironhide's deep rumble came in English this time. "Prime tells me you think you're a frontliner."

"As in front line of the battle, yes," Nightshade nodded, taking the old warrior's measure with a steady gaze. They were pretty much optic to optic, with Ironhide having a slight advantage in apparent mass, but Nightshade being the heavier mech in reality. No one would contest that Ironhide was the heavier armed one of the pair, or the more experienced by an immeasurable amount.

As far as Jazz could tell, neither fact mattered to Nightshade.

"Well come on then. Time to show what you've got," he grunted and turned to head for the sparring field with Nightshade and Jazz on his heals.

Jazz kept quiet, but he had every sensor on their new recruit as they walked. Ironhide didn't unsettle him, which no doubt annoyed the old warrior. It wouldn't be the first recruit he'd broken in, though it probably would be the last.

It was another sobering thought to add to the many from the fallout of Mission City.

Jazz wasn't surprised to see that everyone, from Prime to Bumblebee and their human allies and all the former humans, had gathered around the sparring field. How well this newcomer could fight, and how he fought, was important to everyone. He nodded to Prime and moved to stand next to his bond-mate to watch.

"Nightshade," Optimus spoke up, catching his attention instantly. "Have you sparred before?"

"Technically, but I don't remember now," he admitted. "I just know how to fight."

"Sparring is fighting where you don't try and kill," Ironhide said. "Just get over here and show what you can do."

Optimus nodded and Nightshade turned to face his opponent. Optics locked on the two, sensors wide open, processors focused on judging mood and moves.

For a lingering moment, the pair just gauged each other. Ironhide raised his arms, his canons cycling up to power.

"Pits he's fast," Sunstreaker muttered at the explosion of movement the open threat produced.

Nightshade was in his smallest form, darting in, snapping at joints and armor and leaping back. It wouldn't do more than irritate the heavily armored warrior, but it was distracting and it did draw mech fluids, and once a small trickle of energon.

"It's not his only trick," Jazz commented, optics and visor taking in every twitch and move. It wasn't like any Cybertronian fought, though he could see the similarities between this and how Earth predators took down much larger prey. Nightshade was a predator intent on taking down prey that could kill him.

"Fight me you little glitch!" Ironhide bellowed, turning in circles as he struggled to land a strike.

A low chuckle reached the audience as Nightshade darted between Ironhide's legs again, only this time when he twisted around it came with the familiar clicking and grinding of a transformation sequence.

"Oh Pit," someone whispered as the majority got their first look at the demon-spawn towering over Ironhide for the split-second it took for Nightshade's greater mass to slam into the old warrior and knock him to the ground.

"That thing's as big as Megatron," Major Lennox gasped.

As Ironhide brought and arm up to fire into his attacker's gut, Nightshade clamped deep canid jaws on his head and a chunk of his shoulder, chewing on the hard metal while her arms tried to pin Ironhide's down and the long, viciously curved claws on her hind legs drove into the thick armor of Ironhide's chassis.

The pair fought to control the balance for a long minute before Ironhide got a foot under him and pushed off hard. It dislodged the claws as they rolled over, and it gave Ironhide the leverage he needed to wrench one arm out of Nightshade's grip and slam it down into the much larger mech's chest.

Nightshade gave a grunt when she was hit for the second time, and retaliated by tightening her jaws, crushing down on his head with enough force to crack even Ironhide's thick armor.

"That's _enough_!" Ratchet roared, stalking onto the battlefield and towards the two warriors intent on beating each other into submission. With an extra pulse along their bond, Ironhide complied.

"Nightshade! Break off!" Optimus ordered, his deep voice rumbling through the crowd and the very ground. He watched with critical optics as the youth growled, her optics glowing bright gold.

For a tense moment no one was sure if she'd comply, but her jaws unlocked and her body went lax under Ironhide before Ratchet reached them.

"You're predictable," Ironhide grunted at her.

"You're slow," she countered, not the least bit put off by the beating she'd just received.

"Both of you, shut up," Ratchet snapped as he hauled Ironhide to his feet and gave him a shove towards the Med-bay building. "You're as insane as he is," he glared at Nightshade as she transformed into base mode and stood up.

"I thought I told you that," Nightshade quirked at optic ridge at the CMO.

"Move you," Ratchet growled, giving the taller mech a shove to follow Ironhide.

Optimus watched the three of them walk off before he turned to Jazz and Prowl.

"For his level of training, that was impressive," Prowl acknowledged. "Undisciplined, but a good use of forms and inherent advantages."

"Those two're either gonna be best friends, or kill each other," Jazz mused. "All brute force and no style."

"Do you want to hand him off to Ironhide?" Optimus offered.

"No way," Jazz shook his head sharply. "No, that'd be the death of any good humor he's got. I can handle'm."

"Very well. When Ratchet lets him go, find out how fast his alt forms are," Optimus instructed.

"About them," Jazz looked up at his leader. "I doubt he'll fuss, his base may be mech, but he considers both alts femmes."

"That is one messed up processor," Sideswipe snorted through his vents.

"As if any of'm aren't?" Jazz chuckled at the bright red frontliner. "He's just a bit more off'n most. He's gotta strong protective drive. We can work with that."

"Yes we can," Optimus agreed with a nod. "Keep me up to date."

"Will do, Boss," Jazz saluted him and headed towards Med-bay.

Jazz leaned against the Med-bay wall next to the main door and watched as Ratchet fixed the minor damage the pair had done to each other sparring. He listened to the old warrior give pointers to his newest student. The attentiveness Nightshade gave him would have surprised most of the base, but both Jazz and Ironhide recognized the savagery and style for what it was.

It would be much like raising the twins; impulsive, temperamental and violent, but Nightshade had a strong plotting mind when instinct and reflex didn't get in its way. The time he'd spent watching and judging them was proof enough of that.

Jazz wanted him. Frontliners were useful, but a top-grade infiltrator that could hold his own in battle was invaluable. Anyone who could adapt to this kind of dramatic change alone could be trained ... his mind began running through all the possible best uses for the new recruit considering his talents and shortfalls. He was barely listening to the conversations going on around him until Ironhide's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"You've got potential, hatchling," the old warrior said gruffly in a tone that Jazz recognized all too well from when they'd met Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "Introduce you to Carrie, Keith and David tomorrow. You're ready for them, might find a partner."

Oh Pits he won't. Nightshade would not be another frontliner, teamed or otherwise. Combat training was one thing, but this was quite another.

"So quick to place him?" Jazz put on an air of amusement despite his determination to steal Nightshade from the frontliner. He was sure Jenn would help him out. She was a fine student and already talented at reading and manipulating others. That her choice of alt had a name - KITT - still amused him to no end.

Ironhide huffed. "Decepticons are still a threat. No time to be soft."

"You," Ratchet shoved a finger at Nightshade. "Out."

He didn't hesitate a moment in hopping off the med-berth to his feet and walked right to Jazz with a grinned on his face. "So what's next?"

"Speed trials," Jazz answered as they walked out. "Prime wants to know how fast you can go."

"Not as fast as you," Nightshade answered easily. "At least not on open road. Cross country I might stand a chance. You aren't built for that."

"True," he agreed easily as he sent a private comm signal to his current student to meet them at the main gate, then pinged Hound with the same request. "Though some are better suited to off-roading."

"I saw the Jeep, and the black Hummer," he nodded, optics and sensors still ranging to pick up every shred of data he could about the NEST base they lived on.

"Hound and Carrie," he supplied, then cocked his head at the surprise Nightshade showed to the name. "Femmes can be frontliners, or anything else," he guessed where it was coming from. "It's relatively rare to have a femme built like her, but they exist and they get the same respect every other warrior does."

Nightshade nodded, thoughtful, as they stepped into the hot air of the desert. He took deep breath, pulling in air through vents and openings in his body, and shivered with the pleasure of it rushing past tactile sensors.

"You really do like the heat," Jazz didn't stop his amused tone, then noting from the brief, subtle tensing of Nightshade's body when the hatchling noted their company approaching.

"I like what feels good," he gave a sideways grin. "What track am I running?"

"Outer perimeter of the base," came the easy answer as a black 1982 Trans-Am rolled up and transformed into a lightly built bot a bit taller than Jazz. "Nightshade, my top student, Jenn."

"You've got an impressive fighting form," Jenn grinned and offered her hand to the significantly larger mech.

"Thanks. How'd you end up looking like KITT?" Nightshade's golden optics shown with amusement and approval.

"I picked it, of course," she cast a glance at her mentor.

"Alt forms are typically changeable," Jazz gave the brief summery. "If you find one you like, you scan it and then you can use it."

"Very cool," Nightshade nearly purred.

"How'd ya know she was human?" Jazz asked.

"Her name," Nightshade chuckled. "I'd also say she's American, and thirty-five to forty-five."

"Thirty-nine," Jenn nodded, then snickered at her mentor's surprised expression. "KITT's a generational and cultural icon, and my accent is southern US. If I was much younger I'd have picked the modern KITT, much older and I wouldn't have picked either."

"What she said," Nightshade shrugged with an amused grin on his face. "Though you don't have much of an accent."

"Thank you," Jenn inclined her head. "I try to keep the drawl under control, unless drunk, and yes, we can still get drunk. Dating is seriously odd though."

"I already met the Terror Twins," Nightshade said when Jenn abruptly shut up at a glance from Jazz. "I'm not sure 'odd' even begins to cover it," he chuckled, hoping to put the other two at ease.

"Those two," she could only roll her optics. "I heard about it. They have sex on the brain, if it's not violence."

"Or both," Jazz added as they reached the main gate. "First lap, we'll go at an easy pace," he said as he and Jenn transformed. "Second lap you're to chase me as fast as you can," he revved his engine when Nightshade took the cue and transformed into his small alt mode. "Then you can chase Hound across the desert."

"That is incredibly cute," Jenn commented with a coo as her scanners took in the canine-bot that stood as tall as her roof.

"Cute?" Nightshade looked at her before Jazz began to roll, taking an unmarked but well-worn path around the fenced parameter of the base.

"I think so," she giggled, taking a spot to Nightshade's left as Jazz drove ahead, using his sensors to track how hard the increasing speed was straining the animal-alt's systems to keep up. "Why'd you decide to be a mech?"

::Felt right,:: Nightshade responded by radio as the ambient noise of the run made speech less viable when they hit sixty mph. ::And a bit of holdover. Never expected a femme to be frontline.::

::They aren't as egalitarian as they like to think, but a hell of a lot better than the US,:: Jenn agreed as they hit seventy. ::Femme frontliners are rare, but we've got four on base. Three from Cybertron and one from Earth.::

::Carrie,:: Nightshade guessed.

::Yap. Do you know why your vocal processor is acting funky? Ratchet should have fixed that,:: she asked only half in innocence and took note that eighty mph was easily done, but the lope had shifted to the fully stretched out body of a true run.

::Both my alts are female,:: Nightshade tried to explain. ::I didn't _think_ about it. It just is.::

::Relax. No problem. Humans aren't usually so mellow about it, ya know?:: Jenn chatted away, absolutely gleeful that Jazz was trusting her to try and win the new recruit to their unit. ::How are you feeling?::

::It feels _good_ to stretch out like this,:: the lithe predator's grin was all but audible as they hit ninety mph.

Both Solstice and Trans-Am could easily pick up the increased strain on her systems at ninety-five. This wasn't a max speed, but it was getting close to what she should top out at for long-distance travel.

Thirty miles of base parameter, and a lot of human-to-human-chatting later and Jazz was confident in saying that Nightshade could do the distance at a hundred mph. He was also confident that if he was going to win Nightshade to his team he'd need Jenn's full attention on it.

::Ready to run hard?:: he asked as he speed up, hitting one-twenty-five before Nightshade barked agreement and took off after him. In three strides she caught up, snapping at his bumper.

One-thirty, another stride, and he only just sped up again in time to avoid her jaws.

The energy and clicking of a transformation sequence behind him and Jazz put his speed of thought acceleration firmly in link with his rear sensors to keep him two of Nightshade's body lengths ahead of her.

He hit two hundred and three before she began to fall back, only to draw the power from somewhere to extend her stride a bit more. According to his scans, she shouldn't be able to reach this pace, much less keep it up.

::Ironhide, Ratchet, meet me two miles in from the back corner of the base,:: Jazz radioed the pair privately. ::I'm fairly sure Nightshade will stasis lock before she gives up the chase.::

::You _glitch_!:: Ratchet snarled at him.

::She's not in danger yet,:: Jazz countered. ::But whoever she runs into to stop will be.::

::I'm coming,:: Ironhide's grumble went along with his appearance more than a mile ahead of them.

Jazz sped up, easily pulling ahead of Nightshade's weapon form and transforming to stand past Ironhide, trusting the old warrior to catch his pursuer.

"Now _what_ is this all about?" Ratchet growled as they watched Ironhide step in Nightshade's path at the last fraction of a second and wrap his massive arms around the larger frame. The move knocked both of them off their feet, momentum carried them in a twisting tumble that Ironhide ended up on top of.

"Prime wanted me to test'r speed. I didn't expect'r to react like this," Jazz said.

"It's called prey-drive," Jenn said as she transformed and joined the pair watching Ironhide wrestle their exhausted newcomer to submission. "A reflex a lot of predators have to something, anything, moving quickly away from them. She wasn't after you, Jazz. She was after the shinny food-thing trying to escape her."

"Food-thing?" Ratchet raised an optic ridge.

"Whether it's true or not, her mind seems hard-wired at this point to think of metal as food," she explained. "Given she came on line with two canid alt forms that don't exist in the real world, fights like a dog crossed with a cat and can understand animals better than average, I'd put canid instincts, or at least predatory ones, as very likely in her core programming."

"Get off me," Nightshade's base form voice growled from the sidelines, drawing their attention to the still mechs, the larger one kneeling on the smaller's chassis.

"You going to behave?" Ironhide rumbled back.

"Yes," he answered, his voice sounding pained to Ratchet's audio receptors.

Sharp medical sensors focused on Nightshade after passing over the uninjured Ironhide. The former human was low on energy and far too hot, but undamaged. Neither condition was critical, at least now that Ironhide let him up and the air he was cycling hard through his systems wasn't full of grit.

"What produced this?" Ratchet glared at Jazz.

"Three miles at two hundred an hour," he summed up the part of the run that shouldn't have been possible. "Absolute top speed was two-o-six, but it wasn't maintained for more than a quarter mile."

"All right," Ratchet turned to Nightshade as he joined them. "To Med-bay with you. You need energon, rest and the grit out of your frame."

"Yes, sir," Nightshade nodded and dropped to his smallest form before padding sedately towards the building.

Ratchet watched him move, noting the unsteady balance.

" _Never_ try to get him to run that fast again," he glared at the two Intelligence officers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Nightshade is restless with dusk, Jazz takes her out for a run and Jenn and Mirage follow. It's debatable who learns more.

"How can ya still be wound up?" Jazz asked with open disbelief as he watched Nightshade's small alt form pace in agitation around his quarters. "All ya've done is spar and get repaired for two solar cycles. Even Ironhide's resting."

"I don't know," the growling female voice responded, her movement never stopping. "It just doesn't feel right to settle down."

Jazz sat in his chair and regarded the pacing mech. "Why?" he finally asked, already fairly sure he knew at least in part.

"Don't know," Nightshade looked at him briefly in irritation without interrupting her pacing. "Feels like I should be doin' _something_."

He considered the pacing form in his quarters for a bit longer before it finally registered why it looked so familiar, but didn't. Nightshade was acting like an imprisoned animal, like the images he saw more often than not when he looked up the larger predatory animals of this world.

"Why don't we go for a drive?" he suggested. "Well, you run, I'll roll," he offered a cheeky grin. He was fairly sure the look Nightshade gave back when she stopped pacing was a grin, or at least a smile.

Reading a human was hatchling-play compared to reading a canine-human-mech with identity issues.

"That sounds good," Nightshade said as he stood up in base mode and walked out ahead of Jazz with a flow of motion that spoke of unconscious relief.

"Did you go running often?" Jazz asked conversationally as they headed outside.

"Yeah, I guess so," he nodded faintly, thinking over the haze of the last few months. "There were places to check, hunting to do, reports to listen to."

"Reports?" Jazz glanced up at him.

"Nothing intrestin' ta you," he shook his head sharply. "Coyote and vulture gossip mostly."

"You can talk with the animals?" Jazz looked up in shock. Understanding them better than most was one thing, but _talking_ to a non-sentient being? "Before you were changed?"

"Sort of and no," Nightshade shook his head as they stepped into the warm night air. "Only slightly better than I understand Cybertronian right now. I get the gist of things. A packmate died. Newborns. Good hunting. Hungry. Danger that way; close, far or very far. Come. That kind of thing." He dropped down into his smallest form and began padding into the desert at a moderate lope. "I know they say more, like I know Ironhide says more, but I don't know what it means."

"When did you figure this out?" he asked as he rolled along side her at a sedate sixty-three miles per hour.

"I don't remember a realization moment," Nightshade admitted, her nose swinging side to side as she loped head and shoulders ahead of him. "I don't remember caring to wonder about it. It was one of the minor alterations I adapted to."

"Why did they talk to you, if you know?"

"Never thought to ask," Nightshade said. "They came up, yapped and squawked and whatever, and left. Sometimes one would want me to follow, take me to a fresh kill or mineral deposit or animal in trouble, but that was rare."

"Why minerals?" Jazz ran a scan over her body and saw nothing unusual.

She could only chuckle deep in her narrow chest. "They understand me too, at least some. Apparently when meat didn't stop my hunger, the next idea was that maybe I needed to eat what I was made of. And no, they didn't say all that. I thought it when I was shown ta the first 'dead' car."

"Did it work?" he asked, trying to make sense of it. It wasn't like anything he'd heard of before.

"Sorta. So does laying in the sun and hot sand," she said thoughtfully. "Ratchet said I shouldn't need to, but the hunger isn't my imagination."

"Maybe from needing to eat most of your life," he suggested. "Ya processors _expected_ hunger, so ya were hungry. We do consume fuel, food as you'd think of it, even if not at th' same rate."

"It did occur to me," she said as her easy lope took them up into the rocky outcroppings miles from base and eventually up on one. "Eating and sleeping weren't things I expected to need when I woke up like this."

This place Jazz was quite familiar with, and his processors screamed at him about finding out how much intel, military or otherwise, may have been compromised by lovers, stargazers and those on watch. Nightshade had offered that she'd been here once when an Autobot had, but had said nothing of it being the only time.

* * *

Jenn broke off the kiss and pulled away from her lover slightly, her attention shifting from the thrill of making out and invisible in the open to the barracks door and the two mechs walking out.

"Did I do something wrong?" Mirage looked down at her, sliding one hand down her sleek, light frame. He smiled at the slight shiver his fingers drew from her.

"No," she gasped as he slid a finger under her armor. "Just saw them."

Mirage chuckled and kissed her more soundly. It was a strange thing, pressing their mouths together. It did little for him, but the responses he got from this former human were enough to make it worthwhile. "They can't see us. You know that."

"I know," she said with mock annoyance. "I want to know what Nightshade's up to."

Mirage looked down at her and smiled gently. "Jazz can take care of himself," he murmured against her mouth.

"Against a _werewolf_?" she looked at him incredulously. "Seriously, Raj. That's a perfect killing machine he's walking into the desert with and he doesn't even know."

"He knows," he said firmly. "Jazz knows more than both of us."

"Jazz doesn't know the kind of mind that would create that, or he wouldn't be alone with her," she snapped back. "You wouldn't let him walk with Megatron alone."

" _He_ wouldn't let Megatron on this base," Mirage hissed. "How _dare_..." Jenn shoved him away, but he caught her arms and held on, watching her expression closely. "You'll learn," he promised quietly, his manner soothing despite the outrage just below the surface. "Jazz isn't surprised by people." He let her go. "But for now, come. We'll see how well you do shadowing the wolf."

Jenn nodded and transformed, aware that Mirage was doing the same, though he cloaked himself so it seemed to be only her following the slow-moving matte brown mechanoid canine and silver Solstice in the darkness of the desert beyond the NEST base.

They felt Jazz ping them as the pair in front entered the rockier part of the desert near the foothills. Not a word, just a silent signal that he knew they were _both_ there. Yet he didn't order them off as he stopped with Nightshade on a small rise that had an excellent view of the base and continued to talk.

"You came here often to watch us?" he asked with an easy voice, absently noting that she'd picked up some of his speech habits, and he was already adapting to more traditional ones around her.

"One of five vantage points," she said, attention not really on him or the base they could both see clearly in the darkness. Instead her focus was distant and her sensors casting a wide but low-detail net that passed over the concealed Autobots. "It's a couple day circuit the way I did it, longer if there was a distraction."

"Like ah body?" Jazz asked, cocking his head and regarding the relaxed canine figure sitting next to him.

"Like a body," she chuckled, then froze. "Sit, please. Still and quiet."

"Sure," he gave her a curious look and did as requested. ::You two as well,:: he sent a tight beam scrambled transmission intended to avoid not only being understood, but even picked up by anyone but the targets.

::Understood,:: Jenn replied for both of them, all three sets of Autobot optics locked on the relaxing form, keeping careful track of everything that moved, every sound that could be picked up. Coyotes howled and yapped a distance away in the hills. Some closer to base responded. Bats chattered with their sonar. Crickets chirped. The wind shifted the sand. The vehicles, generators and life on the base after most had retired for the night.

Just the sounds of the desert night.

Nothing that meant anything to the Autobots.

Yet Nightshade listened intently, her body relaxing by increments until the soft, rumbling hum of her internal systems seemed to dominate the rise.

Three separate coyote packs began to yap, calling back and forth, and she chuckled.

"You don't have to come on patrol with me," Nightshade looked up at Jazz, her entire frame relaxed and her voice low and soft. "But the company is welcome."

"Then I'll come," he said easily. "Th' full circuit?"

"Mind going over who's who again?" she asked as she made an easy leap down and began an easy lope that would take her around the edge of the desert, skirting the foothills and keeping herself behind cover for the most part.

Jazz smiled faintly and skidded down the slope on his feet before transforming to join her.

"There are thirty-five transformers currently in residence, including you," he began a litany that he'd repeated often in the past two days, with and without holographic visual aids. It frustrated her to no end, but he found an odd enjoyment out of it, trying to come up with tidbits to help her remember names, positions, personalities and faces. "Seventeen mechs and five femmes from Cybertron, eight former human males and five former human females." He paused. "Why not start with who you remember?"

Nightshade's body gave a visible huff, but she nodded.

"Optimus Prime, leader. Largest mech on base. Alt is a big rig, blue and red flames. Easy ID.

"Jazz, Intel CO, Prime's Second in Command. Silver Solstice. You.

"Prowl. Third in Command, dower, logical, a cop."

"A cop?" Jazz asked curiously. It wasn't a designation he'd given her, for all it was accurate.

"He acts like one," she managed to shrug her shoulders without breaking gait. "I like cops," she added with a smile for him. "They're good people. Their own breed, but good folk."

"Prowl certainly is," he agreed with a private smile, his scanners alert for anything unnatural around them and trying to pick up the signals she was reacting to as she led the way around the desert valley. "You like'm?"

"I guess," she didn't sound as sure as he wished. "Can only ID'm half the time. Looks a lot like a couple others still. Yes, Ratchet says my memory and processors are working fine. It's not an equipment or core programming failure. I just don't identify with faces. Never have. Probably never will."

"Never's a really long time forya now," he mentioned, his attention on her reaction to her new lifespan.

"Only if you notice time," she countered, leaping onto a large boulder to briefly scan the area with a powerful sensor pulse. "Besides, Ratchet just about lost it when I suggested selectively editing whatever's in my head that makes remembering hard," she rambled and jumped down to continue the easy pace to her next lookout. "Considerin' what I'll be doing, it might not be bad to not remember easily. It's not good when your meal has a name and face you recognize."

"You don't need to eat metal," he insisted, trying to keep the queasiness from his voice. To kill was one thing, but to consume them too?

"Somethin's drivin' the hunger," she shrugged, more a dip of her neck and head than lifting of her shoulders. "My body does _something_ with it. I don't expel it and there's nothin' loose in my system accordin' ta Ratchet."

"That's ... not normal," was all Jazz could come up with to say.

Nightshade laughed, a high, yapping sound that seemed to be mirthful.

"Jazz, I think it was established a while ago I'm not normal, even for a former human," she continued to chuckle. "I don't know if I'm adding mass or replacing it, but something happens to the metal I eat."

Jazz thought about that for a while. "Just how much have you eaten?"

"Several cars, a five-ton truck, a small prop and the some small buildings," she ran off the summary as best she could. "Ratchet estimated it would be about half my current body mass."

"Are you growing?" he found himself asking before it hit him that it was actually plausible. Hatchlings _did_ grow, rapidly. But they only needed energon. They also weren't hatched with an extro-structure in place, but then the former humans weren't exactly hatched.

"No clue," she swung her head towards him at the incredulous sound he couldn't hold back. "Ratchet'll find out. It's not like I'm going to stop eating. If it's adding mass, his scan'll show it. If not, they'll probably show what is happening. Why does it even matter?"

"How can you not know if your mass has doubled in eight months?"

"How could I have been a normal human female eight months ago?" she shot back. "It's just how things are."

"Aren't you curious?" he asked more quietly, doing his best to signal submission as a car. The last thing he needed right now was rage.

She settled down a bit. "Not really," she admitted. "I'm curious about a lot of things. How my body works isn't one of them. It just ... isn't," she finished with an almost hopeless tone. "I didn't before and I don't now. I just _am_."

"Okay," Jazz said gently, putting all the acceptance he could into the single word. "Back to who you know on base?"

Nightshade groaned. "Ironhide. Combat instructor, oldest Autobot on Earth, warrior all his life, ill-tempered and violent. Black. Can usually ID him.

"Ratchet. Medic, CMO, ill-tempered and violent by rumor, haven't see it yet. Weird-ass neon yellow-ish and black. Likes Ironhide, who would probably kill me for saying it," she snickered a bit. "I can usually ID him."

"Maybe not kill you, but they would make you regret it," Jazz chuckled with her. "What tipped you off?"

She paused mid-step as her entire processor was taken by the effort to answer the question, but only briefly. "Just something the way they ... feel, interact, maybe energy. They're like an old married couple. That point when it's not about the sex anymore, but when they really are two halves of a whole."

"Anyone else you get that feel about?" Jazz asked, all too pleased by her observation.

"The two silvery femmes," she hesitated, trying to remember their names. "Silver Star and Jumper?"

"Silver Shadow and Starjumper," he supplied.

Nightshade nodded. "I know Sunny and Sides are a couple, and not exclusive, but they hardly ever seem to take their hands _off_ each other," she chuckled. "Who'd I miss?"

"Very few such relationships are exclusive for us. You only missed two, myself and Prowl, and myself and Whiplash," he said easily, only to have to hit the breaks hard when her front legs stiffened to skid her to a stop.

"You..." her optics blinked several times. "Definitely didn't catch either one," she murmured before starting up again. "Triad?"

"No," he chuckled lightly. "They aren't together. Prowl's my bonded, Whiplash trained me."

"It is ... normal ... to..." she struggled to find the right words.

"No," Jazz answered gently. "Whiplash and I just got along well that way. It's not uncommon."

"Which one is Whiplash again?" she looked over at him.

"The little black mech you're skittish around," Jazz tried to give her the cues she could relate to.

"Ah, him," her outer plating shivered. "He trained you?"

"Yeah, what about him bothers you so much?"

Nightshade was silent for a long time, trying to work out some way to answer that might make sense to him. Eventually she sighed and shrugged as she leapt up to another bluff, then waited for him to drive around and transform.

"He's Black Ops, not Intel, isn't he?" she finally asked, her voice very low.

"We don't make th' distinction," Jazz said carefully. "But yes, I'd say he'd fit th' profile more'n I do."

Nightshade nodded, her gaze focusing outward again as she watched and listened to the desert that had become home to her.

"You'know what the strangest thing this year has been?" she asked absently.

"I can't even imagine," he answered honestly, his focus fully on his charge.

"Enjoying the heat," a lilt of amusement crept into her voice. "I've hated it all my life, but now, Death Valley sounds really good."

Jazz couldn't help but stare at her briefly. "So you watched giant robots battle to the death downtown, got turned inta one, almost got killed by one, hunted down and spied on a top-top secret government instillation for months without getting caught, walk up'ta us and found out you're strange even fer a human-turned-Cybertronian, and it's liking _heat_ that you find the strangest?"

Nightshade considered it briefly, then nodded. "Pretty much. Everythin' else is physical. That ... that's just weird."

A low chuckle greeted the statement. "Is there _anything_ I can do ta convince ya to try Intel?"

She looked up at him, then transformed to his base mode before sitting on the edge of the bluff, his feet dangling and his optics on Jazz.

"You can start by explaining why you're so keen on somebody who can't tell a week from a month or ID what side a bot's on without being shot at first. I'm a fighter. I don't go sneaking around learning stuff."

"Yet ya did, and you evaded _my_ attention," he pointed out. "I can count on my hands how many have managed that since I finished training."

"And in four months of watching, I _still_ can't place name with bot most of the time, and the humans are still just uniforms," he pointed out, then looked away, up at the star-filled sky. "I guess I can see the usefulness. Somebody who can hide in plain sight and be still for days or weeks at a time can make a great spy," he consented the point. "The 'not getting discovered' portion of the job I get. But bringing back useful intel?" he looked over at Jazz again. "Give me a month and I'll forget my own name if I don't need it."

"Intel's more than being a spy," Jazz smiled at him and sat down. "Whiplash is Intel. He's much more in the capture behind enemy lines/interrogation/explosive sabotage end of things. Black Ops, as you put it. I'm focused on data sifting, the how to get what we need without getting killed end of things. Silver Shadow is a spy and thief in the most traditional sense, and the best sniper we have on planet. You send her when you want something specific, you need it now and you have a reasonably good idea of where it is. Starjumper's a hunter and break-in artist. She's fast, agile and good at bringing back prisoners alive for interrogation. She's also tops on a rescue mission."

"So what would you have me do?" Nightshade looked over at him again, weighing the words and his own preconceptions and trying to frame it all with a future he'd really prefer to be as simple as possible.

"Ratchet may not be willin' ta edit your programming, but there are battlefield upgrades that would accomplish much the same thing," Jazz began to answer the deeper issue with something he knew was a bribe and wasn't worried about being taken it as such. "Systems that record and flash IDs up for you, even instructions on how to do a job. I use'm at times, when I have a technical job that's outa my skillset. Even without that, you are excellent at sneaking around and gathering the info you need. Even if ya don't remember many details, some level of summary does remain. You'd make an excellent surprise killer, by weapon or assault, or to take down key defenses before a battle."

A small nod answered the statement and the pair fell silent, the sounds of the desert taking over. The moon had nearly reached its zenith when Nightshade finally moved again, kicking forward from the bluff and rolling into a transformation to his small alt that began to pad towards the base.

::Well, what do you think?:: Jazz called his two operatives to him as he watched Nightshade head for home. The canid form paused briefly to look back at him, and continued when he waved her on.

"You will have a time of it getting him away from the front line," Mirage answered smoothly. "Not impossible, but as is typical, your greatest challenge will be overcoming preconceptions about our unit."

"I'm still not sure why you'd _want_ her," Jenn crossed her arms. "Anybody who _wants_ to be a frontliner is trouble and then some."

"Anyone, any _thing_ that I can stand ten meters from for an hour and not notice is too good at staying hidden to pass up," Jazz told the black Trans-Am. "What is your real reservation?"

She blinked her optics, an action all the former humans seemed to know and use regularly, and summoned up the courage to tell him what she'd already said to Mirage.

"She's a werewolf," Jenn finally came out and said it.

"And I'm a giant sentient robot from another planet," Jazz looked at her, running through everything he could about 'werewolf' available on the planet's networks. "Most media makes them out to be quite dangerous, and he is."

Jenn drew in a deep 'breath', passing the air through her body in an effort to mimic actions too familiar to let go of. "It's not the mythical kind that concern me. It's that this one might be from a ... project. She's the right age, Marine Corp, intelligent, highly disassociated from humanity and violent even back then."

"A project?" Mirage looked at her, the very back of his processors buzzing at the implications of that from before the war.

"A lot of things happened that don't exist," she tried to explain without breaking the oaths still binding to her. "More than even I know of. But I know too many projects happened, trying to produce super-soldiers."

"And if she is?" Jazz prompted. "What of it?"

Jenn focused on him. "If she is, she'll have conditioning we don't know about. That _she_ doesn't know about. She's a hazard to anyone around."

"And you didn't bring this up before, because?" Mirage scowled at her.

"Because I'm still trying to confirm it," she shot back. "I'm not saying she won't make a fine Autobot. I'm just saying that trusting her beyond the 'point at enemy and turn loose' stage is a bad idea until we know her programming is clean."

Jazz considered her and smiled with a quirk of his mouth. "Your concern is appreciated, and noted. Keep in mind I haven't survived twelve million of your years on the front lines by misjudging people, bot or bio. Nightshade is controllable. He simply requires different parameters than you."

"Yes, Sir," Jenn shifted, her posture uneasy.

"Are you going to help me recruit him?" Jazz focused on former NSA Intelligence Operative.

"If those are my orders," she nodded, not hiding how unhappy she was.

"If your spark isn't in it, don't," Jazz said firmly, reminded that she wasn't yet accustomed to being allowed to question her actions like this. "Absent is better than with reservations."

Jenn looked him at him, optics to optic band and straitened. "I should not be on this mission, Sir."

"Understood," he nodded sharply. "Continue to search for her in the records. If she was part of a project, I want to know about it."

"Yessir," Jenn both relaxed and looked excited at the same time.

"Now let's get back to base and some recharge," Jazz quirked a grin. "Or whatever you were up to when we left."


	5. A Time to Socialize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With placement testing out of the way, Ratchet's lecture and notes about the fundamentals of survival as a Cybertronian absorbed and a few warnings quietly passed around the base, Nightshade finally has some free time. At least until Jazz coaxes him into socializing.

Nightshade had her optics powered down, olfactory sensors off, tactile sensors dimmed to everything but heat and auditory sensors at full power. She rested in her smallest form on top of the roof of the Autobot barracks in the heat of the desert afternoon and rumbled a low cooing that was felt more than heard. Humans barely noticed it, but the Autobots felt it and checked out its origin before moving on with their day.

Five days on base and all sides were getting used to the new resident, and him to them.

"There'ya are!" Jazz's cheerful voice called up to her.

She gave him a light woof of acknowledgement and brought all her sensors to nominal but didn't move. It was so lovely warm.

"Com'on down," he laughed lightly. "I wanna make some introductions now that'ya have a full lingual pack."

"Coming," she sighed and got her feet under her and half-scrambled to the edge before jumping down, her sharp claws clicking on the metal roof. He stood in base form and looked down at Jazz. "Who's coming in?"

"No one today," the small saboteur grinned cheekily at him before turning to head for the large hanger-like building that served as the social hub on base for the mechs and more than occasionally their closer human friends. "But most everyone is in the common room. Ya need'a socialize more."

Nightshade groaned to himself, a silent complaint that Jazz registered but didn't comment on when the youth didn't go further with it.

"War is a bad place to be without friends," Jazz continued, his tone chipper. "Trust and understanding will keep you alive."

"I put in hours a day learning that," Nightshade pointed out. "And a few each night."

"In training," Jazz corrected lightly, presenting it as an easy confusion. "You're learning how to fight with them, to work as a team," he put all the approval he could into his words. "There's more to it than battlefield tactics and knowing their responses."

A low, pained groan greeted the words, and Nightshade's face and tense body language were just as expressive of his displeasure. "I get it," he sighed with resignation, defeat and far too much annoyance. "Stupid of me to think it'd be any different, just because it's a different race," he muttered darkly.

"You really dislike socializing that much?" Jazz considered the mech and the last few days as he slowed his walk. He'd hardly call him anti-social. He was more like Mirage, though Jazz was sure the lesser noble would choke on his energon at the comparison. They both tended to hang out at the periphery of whatever group was around, or watching and listening without being seen. Present but aloof.

It was a dangerous mentality that had taken Jazz far too many millennia to work Mirage out of enough to be accepted, and still the rumors of him being a traitor, or at least not dedicated to the Autobot cause, were thick around him at times.

"No," Nightshade answered quietly. "Just groups," he waved off the SIC's concern as they entered the large, largely soundproofed hanger-like common room. Music was a thundering beat and conversations even louder. "I'll be fine, sir."

As far as Jazz was concerned, it wasn't just a lie, but a badly delivered one. Even as the other mech forced his frame to relax, optics darted, olfactory receptors flared slightly, weight shifted to his back foot as he stood in the doorway for a bit longer than normal and only halfway visible.

::No one's gonna hurt you,:: Jazz switched to their comm, meant only for the mech he was standing in front of as Nightshade brought himself fully visible with effort.

It took a fraction of a moment, a just noticeable difference, for Nightshade to take the next step and let the door shut behind him. "I know," he said simply, this time the truth.

With an understanding smile Jazz gave him a few more moments to take in the rowdy gathering, nearly thirty mechs and a dozen humans strong. He watched as he got the desire to transform under control, along with a desire to bolt, or at least hide. Physically, he looked normal again, but there was little missing how uncomfortable he still was in his optics.

"You'll do fine," Jazz reassured him and walked into the impromptu party.

Nightshade followed two steps behind, occasionally looking up and around to try and place a name to a face. A few registered. Ironhide ... or was it Carrie? Those two were the devil to tell apart unless they talked. Probably Carrie. She was far more social than the old warrior. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Hound, Blurr, Hot Rod, Mirage, Jenn ... or was that Michael? No, definitely Jenn. The mech was larger than Mirage, who was talking to her. Robert was easy, with his General Lee paintjob. Mark was the only light blue one on base. Lisa was a bright blue, and Mirage had a large white stripe down his centerline. Well, there was Blurr too, but he had so many swept-back angles on his frame he was obvious for his look rather than color. Marie, with her beautifully glittering gunmetal gray paintjob, always stood out in the crowd.

Eleven out of thirty-five, and none of the humans.

He found himself gravitating towards the mechs that had welcomed him the most despite the strange looks they gave him every time interfacing was referenced in some way. The pair were clicking, whistling and whirring in Cybertronian. A war story to entertain their audience. He lingered, listening to the erratic, exciting story told in such violent and sensual terms.

It was barely halfway done when he wandered off, hoping to find someone talking in a language that didn't make his processor ache to understand. The lingual downloads did their job, but the chaos caused to keep them from bleeding into each other was the Pit.

Nightshade groaned softly as the alien expletive was inserted even in his thoughts.

"Hay, Nightshade," Jenn's familiar voice caught his attention as she walked up. "How're doing?"

"Well enough," he answered, trying to keep focus past the music and chaos. "You?"

"Very well," she smiled up and motioned him to join her in a relatively empty space away from the speakers. "Do you mind a personal question?"

"Nah," he shook his head and leaned a shoulder against the wall to regard her. A niggling in the back of his mind objected to talking to a spy, but he couldn't make himself care at this point. They still knew more about him than he did.

"Why claim to be a mech?" she relaxed against the wall as well, sipping her half-strength high-grade cube and putting on the appearance of relaxed curiosity. "You were born a woman, your two alts are femmes..."

"It's easier than being stuck in support," he shrugged. "I did that once. I'm not going to again."

"But they let femmes be frontliners," she pointed out. "Carrie, Chromia and Firestar are all front-line warriors."

"Something I didn't know when I walked in," he pointed out. "Besides, I'm built like a mech. I'm weird enough as is. I didn't see any reason to make it that much more confusing."

"More confusing than switching gender with form?" She raised an optic ridge.

"That was Jazz," he snorted through his vents, making a close imitation of the noise it used to be. "I don't care what they call me. I still don't get why they bother with gender assignments."

"It is a little odd," she admitted, cocking her head. "Did you want to be a guy?"

Nightshade chuckled softly. "No. I just never had much care about gender. It happens when you're mostly strait and raised by lesbians. If it's easier for them to think of me as a mech, or to note different forms as different genders, it makes no difference to me."

"As long as they let you do what you want," she nodded.

"Energon?" a low, cultured voice asked in the Queen's English.

Nightshade spun around and away from the wall, half dropping into a combat crouch before catching himself and straitening to look down at Mirage. "I..." his voice trailed off when he realized the energon was the paler variety he was still drinking. A touch darker than usual, but within range.

It took another moment to shake off the weirdness of having the data streamed in front of his optics and the chemical formulas _understood_.

"Thank you," he managed as he accepted the cube.

"You are welcome," the soft British accent rolled off Mirage's glossa as naturally as his native Noble Cybertronian. "I know how unpleasant these parties can be," he began, his voice just loud enough to be easily heard by the mech standing next to him. "Nine million years and I am still not used to it. I have come to understand the importance of doing more than just showing your face. This society, the Autobots, do expect interaction during these events."

"Jazz put you up to this?" Nightshade asked without rancor in his voice, only absently noting that Jenn hadn't moved, but her optics were now on the other spy.

"Actually, no," Mirage smiled at him. "I was in your position. As unpleasant as it may be, socializing like this is the price of their acceptance."

He regarded the Cybertronian noble for a lingering moment, then took a sip of the energon. It wasn't the standard formula, a bit sweeter with an almost citrus flavor that appealed to the former human whose life had already been largely forgotten, but whose quirks and preferences were still firmly in place as often as not.

"Why don't you enjoy this?" Nightshade asked, motioning around the loud, energetic and slightly chaotic room.

The noble chuckled; a soft, cultured laugh that nearly made Nightshade whine without a clue as to why.

"It is noisy, frequently involves getting drunk and inappropriate behavior," Mirage said easily, using English terminology intentionally. "It is everything my upbringing disapproved of."

"Culture clash," he nodded in understanding. "It's less that and more having nothing to say," he shrugged slightly, glancing around the room and the groups that formed, shifted, merged and broke apart in an almost organic way. Absently he wondered at all the information his new processors insisted on providing to his conscious mind, but the question didn't linger long before the silence between them was too much. "Are all pairings mech-mech or femme-femme?"

"No," Mirage smiled, though he kept much of his bemusement to himself and glad that Jenn kept quiet. Of all the topics to fill the silence between them, it was not one he'd expected given Nightshade's already well-know aversion - aggressively enforced more than once - to being touched outside of combat or by a medic. He wasn't surprised, however, that the question was something covered, however briefly, in Ratchet's orientation. "The equipment is the same regardless of frametype or gender coding. Such relationships for Cybertronians are a mixture of personal preferences and personality. The former humans have generally retained their original preferences. I believe all but Keith are exclusively attracted to the opposite gender-coding."

"Carrie prefers mechs, but she's open," Jenn added, watching the contrast in frames - rough, heavyset frontliner and sleek, physically flawlessly noble - from her position against the wall.

"Gay or bi?" Nightshade asked, struggling to remember which one of the many mechs Keith was before giving up on it. It wasn't like it particularly mattered.

Mirage considered the question for a moment. "I believe indiscriminant would be the best description of his preferences."

Jenn didn't hold back her snicker of agreement.

Mirage smiled when Nightshade cracked a grin and laughed. He was about to speak when a bright red mech, his paint and frame as flawlessly polished as the Terror Twins and only a few shades off of Sideswipe, walked up with a lecherous grin.

The lesser noble took a step back, fully expecting that he was the subject of that look, only to realize that Keith's optics were firmly locked on Nightshade. He considered warning the overcharged mech off before Nightshade realized what was about to happen, but Keith was between them too quickly.

Nightshade took half a step back, clearing his personal space, only to have Keith close it again, this time putting a hand against the wall to half-pin the newcomer close to him.

"Back off," Nightshade growled, a deep, low rumble that carried through the floor as well as the air.

Mirage was aware that the talking had died down. Most present had seen Nightshade's temper, and he knew several were hoping he'd lash out at the irritating Lamborghini. He caught Jazz's optic as the Head of Intelligence walked towards them.

"Ah, come on," Keith leaned towards him and barely registered when Nightshade pushed him to arm's length with a hand against his chest.

"Back off," came the second warning; two more than most got.

"Ya should..." Jazz couldn't even finish the warning before Keith's caught Nightshade's shoulder in his hand, pinning him against the wall.

Before anyone could process the visual information, Nightshade dropped the pinned shoulder faster than the rest of his frame, twisted and came up with his fist clenched. The impact with the underside of his jaw sent Keith reeling backwards, but he caught his balance and took one determined step forward.

Jazz made a move to intercept the overcharged mech, but it was too late. A furious roar resonated through the air, rattling the entire base as Nightshade dropped to all fours into weapon mode and lunged forward. She caught Keith in her jaws squarely across the midsection and lifted up as she shook her head, eventually letting go to throw him across the room and threw a wall.

The music shut off.

~Still,~ Jazz ordered with a touch on her shoulder, nearly optic level with him, and forced his will across the contact to enforce his command. He felt Mirage back him up with a hand near her jaw hinge.

A second roar turned to strangled scream and long, sharp claws dung into the floor as her frame tensed to rush forward after her target, but didn't.

::It's under control, Prime,:: Jazz radioed one of the few mechs not present as Nightshade trembled under his hand. ::Only minor injuries.::

::Nightshade?:: he asked.

::Who else could make that noise?:: Jazz sounded amused and a bit relieved as Nightshade made a slower than normal transformation to robot mode. ::Keith got overcharged and pressed his luck. A lot.::

::And he _didn't_ kill him?:: It was Prime's turn to sound bemused.

::What the _Pit_ ticked him off this time?:: Ratchet broke into Jazz's private comm frequency. ::And who's deactivated?::

::Keith getting fresh and no one,:: Jazz responded calmly with a video download of the incident to both of them.

::That was dumb, even for him,:: Ratchet humphed before he closed the line.

::He's calm now?:: Prime asked.

::Reasonably so,:: Jazz assured him. ::I've got it,:: he promised and relaxed a bit when Prime closed the line. He turned to focus on the mech that swaying slightly next to him, caught between the conflicting demands to continue the attack, check on an injured comrade and Jazz's order to be still. "Ratchet's takin' care of him. Come." ~Prowl,~ he glanced at his long-time bondmate across the room. ~Ya gonna be a hard-aft about this one?~

~No,~ there was a touch of amused approval across the bond. ~Nightshade's response was within acceptable parameters. I do recommend burning off the rest of that temper, however.~

~I know, and it won't be any fun either,~ Jazz responded before walking out the door with Nightshade on his heals.

"Sorry," Nightshade mumbled when they were clear.

"For defendin' yourself?" he glanced up, honestly surprised at the words and their honesty. Their new recruit didn't apologize for violence any more than the Terror Twins. "I won't say that was th' best way, but he was way outa line."

::Hay Jazz, is'e in trouble?:: Sideswipe pinged on his comm.

::No, just needs ta settle down,:: Jazz responded.

::We'll do it,:: Sunstreaker offered, though it sounded more like a statement, if not an order.

"Would'ya rather run, or spar with the Twins?" Jazz glanced up and saw a smile.

"Sparring," he rumbled, already changing direction for the training field.

::You got it,:: Jazz replied to the pair before heading back towards the common room to help repair it and get the party going again.


	6. Morning with the Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the party sees many mechs hung over, but three are missing from their scheduled posts.

::Ratchet,:: an irate voice demanded his attention over his comm just before dawn as he was bringing the Med-bay up for the day and its expected set of minor injuries from the training field. ::Where are the pit-spawn?:: Ironhide demanded in a huff.

::What happened this time?:: he couldn't keep a hint of amusement from his voice. ::I don't have them. Check with Prowl.::

::You don't...:: Ironhide's voice lost all it's heat in a spark-beat. ::They didn't see you at all? None of them?::

::No, Hide,:: he answered patiently, even as he gave a medical ping to the Stingray Twins and received an unusual 'in recovery recharge' reply along with a brief spat of technical data on their condition. ::It seems they should have. They're both in recovery recharge. I'll check on them,:: he sounded more put out than he really was.

::And Nightshade?:: the old warrior asked. ::There's fresh energon all over the training field, a joor old at most. Even if it's from all three of'm, it's a lot.::

Ratchet pinged their newest member. The reply wasn't as concise or informative as those of a Cybertronian, but the intent was clear enough.

_Leave me alone. I hurt._

::I'd say the Twins probably wore him out sparring last night after his little fit. Medical query says all three are in no shape to get up yet. Consider them out for injuries.::

::Understood,:: Ironhide grumbled and dropped the line to turn back to training a dozen former humans how to fight and survive as Cybertronians on Earth.

"First Aid, comm me if you need me," Ratchet called out to his lead medic. "It seems our resident psychopaths got a little too worked up last night."

"Yes sir," the red and white mech nodded without pausing in his start of shift tasks.

Ratchet walked out, headed for the barracks. ::Jazz, Prowl, Prime,:: he commed all three at once. ::Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Nightshade are on out of commission until further notice. It seems they took sparring too far.::

::Understood,:: Prowl responded, his voice as professional as always.

::I'm going to kill those two,:: Jazz grumbled, only half-awake, only to moan softly. ::Later.::

::Do shut your transmission off,:: Optimus chided the lovers with a chuckle before the pair closed their comms. ::Keep me apprised of their condition, Ratchet,:: he continued.

::I will,:: the CMO acknowledged and closed the line before tapping in the medical override to the Twin's door. He'd followed the energon trail, smeared by three sets of footsteps, here. It wasn't the first time, and he had no doubt it would not be the last.

Still, as he stepped in, he couldn't help but be surprised.

Not at seeing the twins on the same berth; that was so common they didn't even have a second one in the room. It was the large brownish-black form between them that was the surprise.

"Humph. So you finally matured," Ratchet chuckled to himself, stilling when Nightshade struggled to rouse himself despite his body's programming trying to keep him in deep recharge.

The medic stepped forward and placed a hand on Nightshade's shoulder. ~Rest,~ he cooed in his most soothing healer-voice and was satisfied when Nightshade settled back into deep recharge without further resistance.

He bent to his task, medical sensors and sharp senses checking each of the three mechs to make sure that their injuries really were minor enough to be allowed to simply recharge in the twin's quarters while auto-repair systems worked.

With a low grumble he set to work hooking up an IV line to each of them and dripped a full ration of processed energon into each, then half of a second one into Nightshade.

With that done he added to their medical records, documented injuries healed and otherwise from their roughhousing, logged that they would be off duty for at least forty-eight joor, possibly longer, and left each instructions that they would receive by comm when they were fully conscious again.

As he walked out he set a personal alarm to remind him to check on them in six joor.

* * *

Sideswipe on-lined first, his body aching enough to tell him what memory files were quickly filling in. A good party, well into getting suitably overcharged, had turned into a sparring match with his brother and Nightshade. They'd shown him why they were the Terror Twins, and he'd replied by showing them why Ironhide had taken to calling him 'the third pit-spawn' after only two days.

It was intense. It was messy. It was wonderful.

He was snuggled between them?

Sideswipe lifted his head slowly, cautious of the after-effects of such sparring. His brother was still in deep recharge, as was their companion. Nightshade was in bot form, curled contentedly and laying half over Sunstreaker's relaxed frame. Dried processed energon coated all three of their bodies, thicker around repaired damage, thinner elsewhere.

He wracked his memory banks for what happened after the fighting. Despite the hazy nature of such recollections, he was sure of one unusual thing; there had been no 'facing, no wind-down between savagery and recharge.

Even more unusual, he was unaccountably reluctant to wake their guest up with it.

As more of his processors and memory synched with awareness, the reason for that clicked into place as well. He was too young to feel desire. Or at least that was the official explanation. The other humans Nightshade's age were all open to 'facing, even if not with them.

No matter what, Sideswipe took the same pride as his brother in having their lovers interested, if not eager.

Sideswipe checked his messages, noted that they were on medical leave for the rest of the day and settled down against Nightshade's back, slipping easily into recharge again. Ready to 'face or not, it was a nice, strong body to recharge against.

* * *

There was a pleasant warmth and weight laying half on top of him when Sunstreaker came on-line. Without thinking, or even bothering to ID the mech, he reached out to caress him, working his fingers between the armor plates to tease wires.

~Don't,~ Sideswipe caught his hand with a warning across their bond.

~Why not, he's here?~ he demanded, pulling his hand out of his brother's grasp.

~Nightshade. We didn't before,~ Sideswipe told him, listening through their bond as his twin came fully awake and realized it was true.

~Then we wake him up,~ Sunstreaker stated and returned his attention to the mech in recharge between them. This time his touches weren't quite as explicit, or demanding. ~Humans are centered on the pelvic strut, between the legs.~

Sideswipe nodded, though he already knew it. He kept his touches light, to the shoulders and flank. Places he could pass off as just trying to wake Nightshade up if it went badly.

A soft murmur greeted them after a moment, the heavy frame pressed into their touch, but its owner wasn't awake enough to choose whether he responded.

~It's a good start,~ Sunstreaker nearly smirked at his brother across their bond, his touch becoming bolder as Nightshade came further on-line.

"Murrph?" a questioning sound came from the youth's vocalizer, then he tensed.

Sideswipe stilled. "Just us, 'Shade," he murmured into his audio and felt the mech relax some under his hands, only to tense again when Sunstreaker's hand slid between two armor plates to tease at wires and cables between them.

"What are you doing?" Nightshade's voice was almost even, but his body tension spoke volumes.

"Making you feel good," Sunstreaker hid his confusion well, even when the brown-black mech pulled away as much as he could, given Sideswipe was still pressed against his back. "Don't you like it?"

Both twins felt the ripple of tension slide down Nightshade's frame as energy flowed in preparation for fast movement.

"Don't you like it?" Sunstreaker asked again, this time his body as still as his brother's and his optics focused with concern.

"N-no," Nightshade shook his head. "Not bad ... just..."

"It doesn't feel right," Sideswipe suggested. He felt, more than saw, the nod of agreement as he pulled Nightshade closer against his chest, though it was only the movement of a few inches. "It won't happen again," he promised. "Will it?" he looked pointedly at his twin over the mech they were trying to calm.

"On our honor," Sunstreaker offered the strongest assurance he knew how, and was as relived as his other half when their companion relaxed.

"We made quite a mess," Nightshade murmured, finally taking in the processed energon soaked pad they were laying on and what he could see of their bodies.

"It was _good_ ," Sunstreaker grinned unabashedly at him. "It's been ages since anyone else was willing to cut loose with us like that."

Nightshade gave him a small smile and squirmed a bit in the desire to get up. "Ironhide's always yelling about control," he nodded, returning the grin to some degree as Sideswipe let him go and rolled off the berth to offer him a hand up. "It did feel good. Really good," he accepted the hand and was pulled to his feet, though he didn't stand all that gracefully at first.

"Don't let old 'Hide get ya down," Sunstreaker said as he got up. "Come on. Let's get cleaned up."

"Then to find out how much trouble I'm in for missing class," Nightshade groaned and rolled his shoulder joints before following Sideswipe into the hall.

"Shouldn't be any," Sunstreaker scowled as they walked to the wash racks. "We're on medical leave until our next scheduled shift. Ratchet's sig and all."

Nightshade looked back at him with open confusion. "We were injured being reckless, and won't be punished?"

"Nothing more'n usual," the twins said in perfect unison.

"Seriously, 'Shade. Just a short lecture about being more careful by Ratchet," Sideswipe said as he tapped the open code for the wash rack room and walked in. "'Hide'll assign a few more drills," he continued as they turned solvent-laced water on and tested it for temperature. "Jazz'll probably have his processors in a twist cause you spent recharge with us, but nothing he can do about that."

"How can you take ticking him off so casually?" Nightshade looked over at the pair who were washing each other down more than themselves.

"Who, Jazz?" Sunstreaker grinned as the water pouring off them started to run clean. "He's not scary."

Nightshade gave the pair a look that doubted their sanity and shrugged it off to focus on getting himself at least mostly presentable before he faced Ratchet to make sure he really was as healed as he thought he was. Jazz's wrath would just have to wait and see.

Maybe he'd take it out on the twins and not him.

He could always hope.


	7. Alt Forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightshade picks out his new alt mode, and Ratchet confirms his suspicions about their new recruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2008 Hamann McLaren SLR Volcano <http://www.thesupercars.org/mclaren/2008-hamann-mclaren-slr-volcano/>

Prowl subspaced a datapad as he left his office, which were doubling as his quarters at the moment, and headed out of the command building. He pinged Nightshade's transponder for his location, and felt a small smile tug the corner of his mouth. The hatchling was as nearly as routine-oriented as he was, and deviated for primarily the same reason: Jazz.

At the moment, the sun being a joor past its zenith, he was sunning himself on the barrack's metal roof.

"Nightshade!" he called up as he approached out of respect for the disorientation the hatchling still had when commed.

A low, recharge-laden grumble was the first response, then the clicking of metal claws against metal roofing. By the time he reached the side of the building Nightshade had moved to the edge and was head and shoulders over it peering down at him.

"It is time to find an appropriate alt form," Prowl told her. "One that can blend when we're traveling rather than stand out."

"I'm not much on blending in that way," the canid pointed out dryly even as she leapt to the ground, transforming to robot mode with the first step forward to bleed off the energy of impact. "What are the options?"

"Anything NEST can procure," he motioned him to follow. "The main computer has been set up to help you choose based on your mass, though as you have learned, it is possible to go outside the natural range. Prime has ordered that you not leave the base until you can travel in disguise."

"Learned might be stretching things a bit, sir," Nightshade said quietly as they walked to the command building. "I don't understand it, I just do it."

Prowl nodded a tact acknowledgment of the difference, one common enough in hatchlings and even more so in the former humans. "Once you have selected, Ratchet wishes to see you about a combat upgrade and your continued chewing on scrap metal."

He was sure Nightshade mumbled something along the lines of 'hungry' but let it go. As odd as his quirks were, they were easy to account for once they were discovered. Ironhide grumbled about him being undisciplined. Ratchet about the constant metal chewing, higher-than-normal energon needs and apparent inability to adjust to regular energon yet. Prime about how he didn't seem to be adjusting to Autobot life and the number of oddities about him. Jazz was always going on about how someone so perfectly designed to sneak and hide was so attached to being a grunt - a conversation they'd had more times than Prowl cared to remember in the past fourteen days.

Yet for Prowl, Nightshade was a treat of a new recruit. Logical and predictable once he had a fundamental understanding of the non-Cybertronian core programming, with few needs and fewer demands and a generally agreeable and respectful attitude off the battlefield. It had taken him less than two local days of observation to gather all he needed to properly utilize the new mech, and barely two more and a conversation with Jazz to have what he felt was a reasonable grasp of Nightshade's core programming to anticipate issues before than became problems.

"Did you move out when I arrived?" Nightshade's hesitant question snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Move out?" he glanced at the mech a bit taller than he was.

"Well, I kinda know you're with Jazz," he paused at the uncertain glance he received. "Bonded?" he offered a term he was less than sure about. "A couple. Lovers?"

"Yes, we are spark-bonded, thus long-term lovers," Prowl nodded. "Why?"

"There's no reason you shouldn't move back in with him," Nightshade offered. "I don't actually spend any time there."

"Your quarters have not been finished," Prowl stated as he keyed the command building main door to open. "You need somewhere to recharge."

"The roof, Med-bay and the Twins cover it," he shrugged, following the TIC to the heart of the large building two Prime-height stories underground. "I get enough rest. Just not in that bunk."

Prowl took a moment to cross-reference the terms before he nodded. "I will consider it," he agreed. "Jazz may have other ideas. Are you with the Twins?" he asked professionally; it was important to keep up on who was prone to be where.

"Not that way," he shook his head sharply. "The warmth is nice sometimes."

"You prefer femmes?" Prowl asked, now curious. It was unlike the Twins to let someone stay on their berth without interfacing being involved, certainly not repeatedly.

Nightshade gave an uneasy laugh of sorts as they stepped into the lift that would take them to the bottom floor. "No preferences at all. That part of my ... code ... hasn't turned on yet. Ratchet doesn't seem concerned."

Prowl nodded. "If they give you any trouble about it, come to me. Or Jazz," he said firmly.

"They don't," Nightshade said quickly. "But I will," he promised. "They've been good about it since the morning after the party when it clicked for'm that it wasn't a Jazz-rule."

Another nod, smaller and more thoughtful. He knew the twins were good bots despite being built for war and knowing nothing else in their relatively short lives, yet he'd never heard of them taking anyone under their care without ulterior motives, always about getting a good 'facing out of it.

Then again, he hadn't met many who shared their battle-lust and need for speed either.

It would bear careful watching, and so would Jazz. He knew his bonded was fuming in his own special way over the apparent attachment the Twins had developed for his charge.

~What's up?~ Jazz reached out to him, the question more a feeling than actual words.

~Nightshade is to chose his Earth alt form,~ he responded blandly, though the spike of interest on the other side was unmistakable.

~Be right there,~ Jazz's excitement was palatable to the former Iacon Enforcer. He led Nightshade into the central control room and to one side where one of the holoscreens had been set up for the Autobots who were arriving almost weekly to choose a suitable alt mode for their new home.

"Sit," Prowl motioned him to the station.

Nightshade nodded and sat in the chair centered on a half-circle desk of sorts covered with touch-control pads and buttons. Empty holographic displays lit up above the entire surface as he looked at the system with open curiosity and not a touch of the uncertainty or even fear a few or the others had at first.

"You were accustomed to technology," Prowl observed.

"I guess," Nightshade glanced up at him, then shrugged. "Fear doesn't help. It's not like I can do that much damage."

Jazz couldn't help the snicker that drew attention to him, and grinned at Nightshade when the larger bot gave him a brief smile.

"True enough, here," Prowl acknowledged. "Do you have an idea for what type of vehicle mode you want?"

"High performance exotic," he answered easily, only startling slightly when a list of makers appeared in the holodisplay floating in from of him.

Prowl leaned in slightly, one hand on the back of the chair. "It will respond to vocal commands as well as tactile ones," he reached forward and poked the tip of a finger into a square with the silhouette of a tractor-trailer near the bottom of the display.

The list of makers was replaced by 3D images of exotic and rare sports cars of all vintages.

"How much of the form's performance will come through for me?" Nightshade glanced up at Prowl.

"It is a factor, though not the only one. We are faster, more agile and more stable than the original vehicle. Prime can outpace most sports cars, and Sideswipe is faster than anything short of a jet-propelled car," he explained as Jazz inched up to watch over Nightshade's other shoulder. "It's mostly a matter of personal preference. Pull anything you like to this corner and it will be saved for review when you have a smaller list. The arrows up and down scroll the visible selection."

Nightshade nodded and turned his full attention to the display in front of him.

"Post nineteen-ninety-five," he said with an optic on the total number of choices. "Random sort."

Two were pulled from the first screen, and Jazz took note, though he had to admit that it would be hard to go wrong with anything in the category. He'd never be seen in anything but the latest concept model, but everything being pulled for further consideration would have been a possibility in their time.

"You do have style," Jazz grinned at his charge with approval.

Nightshade flashed a smile back and flicked to the next screen, the sixteenth. A low sucking of air into his vents preceded a nearly sensual rumble of approval.

Prowl and Jazz both followed his gaze to the design. Prowl nodded in approval. It was distinctive, but no more so than anything else on base. That it matched his colors gave a small, completely irrational thrill to him as well. He'd expected a muted pallet, or something completely flashy. Black and white was not on either list.

"2008 Hamann McLaren SLR Volcano," Jazz told them as he reached out and brought the design to the fore with all its statistics. "What color?"

"This," Nightshade said firmly, optics taking in the bold black and white vehicle on hologaphic display with an almost frightening intensity. "This is perfect." Then he leaned back and chuckled. "I guess I get to add driving lessons to my coursework, hu?"

"It won't take long," Jazz grinned with easy assurance. "You've got great balance at speed."

"Thanks," his smile got a little deeper and turned back to the display. Quickly saving the Volcano, he cleared the searched. "Sixth generation fighter."

"I thought you liked the car," Prowl looked at him mildly as shapes he'd never seen before appeared. He recognized them as airframes, of course, but they weren't like anything in the skies of Earth.

"It's a good hide-in-plain-sight form, but in case you haven't noticed, you are _seriously_ lacking in the air superiority department," Nightshade chuckled a bit, hoping to take the sting from the statement. "I've seen how fast you can scan to a new form. With six in memory..."

"Nightshade, that's extremely advanced." Jazz warned him calmly while Prowl processed what was bring said. "We only have one alt and weapon mode."

_Six forms?_

"At a time, and I already broke that rule given what my weapon mode is," Nightshade shifted one arm over the back of the chair to focus on Jazz. "I've seen how fast a reconfiguration is. There is no reason it's not possible to have a couple extra alts in memory to use when needed."

"It is possible," Jazz agreed. "It is not something that is easy to learn how to do."

"Try me," Nightshade dared him, optics flashing and a stiff pride of determination in his frame.

Jazz considered him a moment longer, and nodded.

~Jazz,~ Prowl warned him.

"Why not try. But try with what's already on base," Jazz put in a small condition. "If you can pull it off and learn to fly well, I'll personally arrange for any airframe you want. Deal?"

~Jazz!~ he repeated. ~You don't know what you just promised.~

~Yes I do,~ his bonded looked at him with a wicked grin. ~He'll wear a seeker frame if he can.~

"Deal," Nightshade nodded and stood, relaxing significantly as he extended his hand to shake on it. "Let's see how well this works."

~You are crazy,~ Prowl managed to keep his physical expression neutral as the pair descended into a lively debate that was only two-thirds English while walking out.

"Okay, before you two decide to sneak off base, he needs to see Ratchet," Prowl did his best to break up the Intel love-fest before it got completely out of hand.

* * *

First Aid scowled at the readouts and began to run them a second time on a patient Nightshade under the bemused gaze of Jazz when Ratchet stepped up and looked at them.

"It's what I expected," the CMO said evenly.

First Aid looked at him uncertainly. "But he's gained almost three hundred pounds of mass since arriving."

"Yes," Ratchet nodded. "And is constantly hungry for material and energon, had not matured for interfacing..."

"Has not," Nightshade corrected calmly.

"I saw you with the twins," Ratchet informed him.

"Sleeping," Nightshade responded. "Nothing more."

"Wait a minute," Jazz stepped closer to look at the readings. "You're saying that Nightshade isn't fully mature yet? He's still _growing_?"

"Yes," Ratchet nodded. "From the download I got in my initial exam and this, I expect he'll add an additional seven hundred pounds of mass before it stops."

"How long will that take?" Nightshade asked, perking up at how _calm_ the senior medic was about of all the weirdness. Machines that grew? That matured sexually? That ... that _hatched_? That one was still too bizarre to wrap his brain around.

"Judging by your growth rate so far, with the effectively unlimited energon and high-quality raw material that arrived today, between one and three months."

"But hatchlings don't grow to full size, and not like this!" First Aid objected.

"He's not a hatchling," Ratchet reminded his chief medic. "However, the similarities are too profound to ignore."

"So, short version, what am I in for over the next year?" Nightshade interrupted as he sat up and rotated to dangle his legs off the side of the medical berth.

"You will continue to come in for a full checkup every seven days, and after every sparring match with the Twins. I've increased your energon rations again. There is a thousand pounds of high-quality carbon steel and aluminum on the north side of the C-17 hanger. Eat what you want of it. Recharge in solar light whenever possible. When you _do_ begin to notice a desire to interface, we need to go over that part of orientation again."

"Understood," he nodded without objection.

"At some point you should lose your appetite for the scrap," Ratchet continued. "At that point we'll try to work you up to regular energon again, though if you want to try earlier, you may. Just be cautious with it. Normally I'd restrict combat training, but if you haven't done any permanent damage by now, you're not likely to," he scowled.

Nightshade chuckled lightly at that.

"Will it affect alt forms?" Jazz spoke up.

"The two he has now, it is unlikely," Ratchet turned to face him. "He's more than doubled his mass since he transformed nine months ago and they have kept up. Scanned forms may be another matter. There is no precedent for that part." He turned back to Nightshade. "If a form becomes uncomfortable to be in, change to something larger and talk to me."

"I will," he promised. "Anything else I should be careful of?"

"Well, since you're sure those who have shown an interest in you are very clear that you are not interested in interfacing, I believe that is everything," Ratchet said with a slight nod. "Just _try_ not to get the oil beaten out of you _every_ night."

"Yes, sir," Nightshade chuckled as he stood and walked out with Jazz. "So, where's the jet?"


	8. A Call from Europe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a call comes in from Europe, it begins a cascade of knowledge that could give Cybertron life again.

::Optimus, you have a call in the main hanger,:: Major Lennox's voice was unusually strained for being on base. ::Everyone should come. I don't believe it and I'm looking at it.::

::I am coming,:: he responded calmly. ::Who is it?::

::Says her name is Mary, but ... you just have to see this.:: he insisted before closing the radio channel.

::Jazz, Prowl, Ironhide, Ratchet, Whiplash, Chromia, Jenn. Main Hanger. Now. Anyone else may come.:: Prime ordered over the comm system as he rolled towards the hanger where they had set up for distance video communications with the humans. A place distinctly separate from the Autobot-only buildings that were not spoken of around the 'suits' as Jazz called them. ::Jazz, is there a 'Mary' that we have had contact with?::

::Not that can track us here,:: he answered after a moment's pause to double-check his memory and pulled up next to Prime. By the time they reached the hanger door, more than half the Autobot force and most of their military comrades had gathered with more coming.

Optimus stepped up to the black screen and glanced at the Major, who still looked a touched stunned. Before he could ask, the screen flared to life with the image of a mech no one knew.

"Greetings, Optimus Prime of the Autobots," a distinctly female voice spoke in flawless newscaster American English. It gave everyone flashbacks to Nightshade's arrival. "I am Bloody Mary. I believe we have a few things to discuss that should be done in person."

"Yes, I would agree," he considered her cautiously. "You have given your designation, but not your faction. Why?"

"It's not Autobot or Decepticon," she sidestepped the question to a degree.

::I think she's Intel,:: Jazz commed him privately. ::Likely former human.::

"Have you always been Cybertronian?" Optimus asked.

"No," she said smoothly. "You have, however."

Optimus nodded. "We will help you adjust."

::Prime, permission to speak,:: Jenn tried to keep the excitement from her voice. ::Don't look at me or react.::

::Granted.:: he kept his curiosity under control. She may be new to his team, to Jazz's Intel network, but he knew what requests like that usually meant.

"I hear it's raining sheets in Belgrade," Jenn's voice was carefully modulated to mimic her human one and just barely audible.

"Thank you," Mary inclined her head slightly. "Vielleicht knnen Sie etwas von diesem Sonnenschein von Kalifornien bringen?"

"Tylko jesli wprowadza czekolady," Jenn cracked a grin and motioned to Prime to step back so she could take the center place.

"Usted trae el vino," Mary countered, her body language becoming more animate.

"Que les garons devraient-ils apporter?" Jenn's voice was teasing, every part of her in motion.

"kszerek s rzsa mindig megfelelo," Mary managed to make it sound more than a little suggestively dirty and Jenn laughed brightly before the connection was closed.

"What did you two say?" Major Lennox asked when the screen went dark.

Jenn smiled down at him. "She said 'perhaps you can bring some of that California sunshine' in German. I said 'only if you bring the chocolate' in Polish. She said 'you bring the wine' in Spanish. I said 'what should the boys bring' in French. She said 'jewelry and roses are always appropriate' in Hungarian.

The human only looked more confused. "Why?"

Jenn cast a sideways look at Jazz, who was snickering, and caught sight of the amused expression on Mirage's face. "It's a spy thing."

"Did that 'spy thing' provide a time and location to meet her?" Prime regarded her.

"Of course," Jenn looked honestly offended. "Along with who's coming, the contact procedure and what we'll trade as good faith tokens."

"You got all that from the exchange?" Prime didn't hide his surprise, and the murmur behind him spoke of more than a few people changing their mind about their newest Intel operative.

"What was said, what language it was said in, the accent it was said with and the tone used along with body language," she nodded and looked at Lennox. "We'll need as close to Berlin as you can manage, while still keeping cover, and suitable alts to drive around Europe in. I have three days to be there. Everyone else will have at least five, though only she knows where on the continent it'll be."

"And who is going?" Optimus prompted, his arms across his chest.

"I'm primary, since she actually knows me. Ratchet or First Aid to explain the medical end of things. Yourself, as the unit commander. One other of your choosing. Jazz if you wish to present as a civilian Intelligence unit, Ironhide if you prefer her to regard us as military. There won't be an objection to others being along in the plane, or on base, but for the actual meet it'll just be the four of us. No one else."

"I understand," Prime nodded gravely. "It will be Ratchet and Ironhide."

He heard, and chose not to respond to, Jazz's wordless objection.

"Who was that?" Epps spoke up. "How do you know it's safe?"

"Sweetie, it's _never_ safe when a couple SpecOps spies are working out if an alliance is advisable," she looked down with almost a gentle expression. "It's even less so when both are only part-time field agents, at least one of whom hasn't been active in nearly a year."

"Do answer the first question," Prime insisted.

Jenn instantly went tense. "I know her as Bloody Mary of MI6. She knows me as Rainmaker of the NSA. We don't give real names in this business, not even to our husbands or wives."

"IsJennyourrealname?" Blurr suddenly asked. "Becauseit'saprettyname, orIthinkso."

"It is now," she gave the hyperactive blue mech a bit of a smile as she stepped down from the platform that brought her optic level to the same height as Prime.

"Butitwasn'tbefore, wasit? Wasiteveryourrealname?"

She couldn't help but laugh, though it was a friendly, amused sound. "No Blurr, it wasn't. Neither was the name before that, though the one before that was my legal name for a while. Not the three prior ones, however."

"Don't ask," Jazz chuckled when he saw someone about to.

"I wish you could come too," Jenn's manner was sincere when walked to her CO. "I'll keep you as updated as I can."

"I know better than to tag along," he assured her. "Not even Mirage will."

"Thank you," she lightly leaned forward, touching foreheads with him briefly.

"You will brief the team going, and Jazz, fully," Prime spoke as the gathering dispersed.

"What about us?" Lennox asked. "We're the ones who'll be pulling your tailpipes out of the fire if this goes south."

"Actually, if this goes south, Ironhide will be the only one who _might_ last long enough to shoot back," Jenn said with the kind of acceptance that didn't come naturally to most. "She'll have her snipers set up and ready, in case we betray her."

"How can you be that calm about it?" Ratchet glowered at her before the group who needed to know transformed and rolled towards their command building and the secure meeting rooms there.

"Because it's the world I've lived in since I was sixteen, and I was a Military Intel brat before that," she reminded him. "I was a target before I was even born."

The rest of the short drive and longer walk to Intel's primary briefing room was in silence, but no one doubted the two Intel operatives kept passing information as fast as they could think.

"All right," Optimus had everyone seated quickly as soon as Jazz locked the door. "What is going to happen, if this goes well?"

Jenn nodded and walked to the head of the table where Jazz usually made presentations. "We land. I scan a new alt and head for the contact point. We'll both be using holforms..."

"How can you be sure?" Ironhide demanded.

"Because the meeting she choose is sitting inside a bar," Jenn answered. "At this stage we can both walk away, no harm, no foul. It's when we'll set up a second date, this one of my choosing. We'll trade these meetings, and small tokens of goodwill, until we're both comfortable with the exposure of expanding those in the know. Given she came to us and knows me, it's likely to only be a day or two, a week at most. She implied that as well, in our exchange. It is not a promise, however. If something goes wrong, we could play this game for months before finally agreeing to a full meeting where you'll meet her and three of her squad, and they'll meet you."

"What kind of tokens?" Jazz asked.

"Given the reason for the alliance, I'd offer her information on Cybertronian medicine, biology, modern culture, a few important names and faces. Most of it focused on former humans, since that's what she'll want to know. In return, I expect information on some of her people, who she's working for now, the state of the European Union and much of the old Eastern Bloc."

"Do you know her squad?" Ironhide asked, not at all pleased.

"I know who some of them were," Jenn acknowledged. "Who, or what, they are now, or if they're still alive, is debatable. I'm confident that she will have done her best to recruit most of the transformed humans still in the European Union by now, and likely quite a few in the former USSR and northern Africa. Much as you've done in North and Central America."

"What do you know about _her_?" Jazz pressed, visor locked on his officer.

"She's MI6, in her late forties and specialized in Eastern Europe. We were both data sifters with enough common sense to do fieldwork. She did more gathering than I did, actually worked out of field offices all over the Eastern Bloc. We met when our governments chose to swap intel in ninety-five. So far our contact has all been via satellite conferencing and the Internet. We worked on and off on briefings and missions until I was transferred here.

"I will know a great deal more after the first meet and I've read her dossier," she promised.

"Very well," Optimus inclined his head. "How should we act when we meet her?"

Jenn paused thoughtfully, running a thousand permutations a second before deciding what she liked. "Above all else, avoid threatening behavior, verbal or posturing," she focused on Ironhide. "I realize that is not going to happen, but try to keep it down to the 'protective VIP bodyguard' level."

The old warrior hurrumphed at her, but didn't otherwise object.

"Keep physical contact to an absolute minimum," she looked around the room, trying to stress the importance of it. "Try to remember that Mary and her squad honed their instincts and perceptions in bodies that were highly vulnerable at under a double arm's length. Anything that gets that close will set off every panic button they have. Even if _they_ initiate the contact, it is a dangerous thing to do. A signal of trust, surrender or attack. None are a good thing right now."

"We want her to trust us," Prime considered the young Intel officer.

"Yes. What we don't want is to have one of her squad get nervous and take a preemptive shot when it's not necessary. It's been nine months since their world turned upside down. They've most likely been alone, with only each other and no understanding of what was happening to them. Most humans will seek out some kind of link to their old life. But we're talking about spies and black ops squads here. They were not normal humans to begin with, and the last nine months has most likely alienated them beyond any reason or cultural link. They are not human any more, inside or out. They're just not Cybertronian either.

"It is most likely this relatively extreme step of admitting they exist, even to us, is for the same reason Nightshade did. At least one of them, likely all of them, need medical attention and assistance that all their training and the resources of Europe, northern Africa, the Middle East and the Eastern Bloc can not solve for them.

"This will make them more willing to talk sooner, but it also makes them much more dangerous if they think they get what they need and escape with no living witnesses."

"Just how likely is it that they will try to kill us?" Prime focused on her, trying to gage her on many levels.

"Mary, almost none, and she's just as unlikely to order the shot be taken," Jenn said with confidence. "I can't say the same for some of the squads I know. I'm going to do my best to at least get their old codenames before you meet her. I'll know a lot more then. Most of them are good guys. They just attract more than their share of psychos."

"Then everyone get ready for an extended mission to Europe," Prime ordered and stood.


	9. Alliance Across the Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After cooling their wheels for four days, Prime, Ratchet and Ironhide are waiting for Jenn to arrive with Bloody Mary.

::I don't like this, Prime,:: Ironhide's restless nerves were understandable. They were out in the open, in the dark of late evening, waiting in European alt mode in a rest stop of sorts. Each had their primary holoform as the driver, and they were spread out in the otherwise empty parking lot, per Jenn's instructions, to look like they weren't there together. It was a strange order to both warrior and medic, but Prime had simply nodded acceptance and ordered them to do as instructed.

::I know, Ironhide,:: Prime tried to sooth him. ::This is not the world you were built for.::

::It's not exactly what you were built for either,:: Ratchet grumbled.

::I was built to lead,:: Prime reminded him. ::That requires some understanding of all levels of a society, including theirs.::

Ironhide was about to reply when the rumble of four high-performance engines heralded the arrival of Jann, Bloody Mary and two others.

::Two frontliners, a scout and Jenn,:: Ironhide said, judging by the sound.

::Remember, be still and quiet until Jenn signals us to join them,:: Prime reminded his team.

They all watched as two Opel Antaras, one black and one dark red, pulled in ahead of Jenn's silver Lotus Exige S240 and a bright red Alfa Romeo 147 GTA. The larger vehicles positioned themselves in well-chosen places in the large, almost empty parking lot so they would have a clear shot at any of the three Autobots present and be able to reach Bloody Mary quickly.

Laughing and looking happy and perhaps a bit drunk, the two female holoforms got out of their respective vehicles and worked their way to one of the bench tables near the parking lot edge and sat down. Each began to set blades and two small pistols on the table between them as if it was perfectly normal behavior.

A solid five minutes of silence passed for the five mechs watching the femmes chat and communicate before Jenn finally looked up to meet eyes with Optimus' holoform with a motion to join them.

::Everybody out, and be polite,:: Prime reminded Ironhide and Ratchet ... mostly Ironhide. They all stepped out of their vehicle mode in holoform, taking note of the forms Mary's two mechs took. Clean-shaven, well-muscled but not as large as Ironhide. Black suits and sunglasses even at night. Classic high-profile VIP bodyguards that fell into step to each side of the three Autobots without a word.

Jenn stood and greeted the large form of her leader with a warm, very pleased smile. "Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Ironhide," she indicated each in turn. "Bloody Mary, DerRitter and a'Sombra," she indicated the two males in turn. "Have a seat and let's get the party started."

"You are insufferable," Mary rolled expressive green eyes.

"You have no idea," Jenn laughed with a wicked grin as the five men found their places; the Autobots on one side of the picnic table, the locals and Jenn on the other. "Just wait till you meet my boyfriend."

"Nine months and you've already figured that out?" Mary teased.

" _He_ knew what he was doing," Jenn snickered.

"You'll have to introduce us," Mary said with a soft rumble before focusing her attention on the men across from her. "But we have business to deal with. I assume Jenn has given you a basic briefing on our subculture and as much as she could dig up on every name I gave her in exchange for the intel you had her pass to me."

"Yes, she has," Optimus nodded, remembering Jenn's final instruction to him. Be truthful, but don't volunteer much information.

"Has it been helpful?" Ratchet asked. He was itching terribly to get more than his basic sensors to work on them, but that required permission. He already knew they needed attention, but it was no more critical than with Nightshade when he'd arrived.

"Quite useful," she inclined her head to him. "It confirmed much of what we've worked out on our own, and answered some of what haven't."

She shifted, leaning back slightly, her full focus on Ratchet. "Tell me something, doctor. Why am I different from every other mech I've encountered or pulled reports on?"

Optimus couldn't help the startled expression, but Ratchet took it as an offer to allow his full scanners to focus on the heavily built femme.

"I need to do a complete exam in a proper Med-bay to be sure, but I have encountered one other human-turned-Cybertronian with similar readings to yours," Ratchet said calmly. "You've had a hunger for metal, grown in size since you became mechanical, the transformation was very fast and extremely painful, you are regularly assaulted by instincts you would classify as animalistic and understood how to transform into two very different alt forms, an animal and a animal-monster, without scanning them. Any of that incorrect?" he asked at the openly shocked expression she wore.

Everyone noted the tension in her two guards, but no one moved.

"N-no," Mary stammered as she gathered her wits. "Have you learned why the differences are so extreme?"

"Not yet," Ratchet admitted. "Until a minute ago I had a sample of one."

Mary nodded, her demeanor back to a friendly neutral. "Did this other example come to Europe?"

"No," Prime shook his head.

"What animal are your alt's based on?" Ratchet asked. "Nightshade's canid based," he offered.

"A bear," she answered, still musing over options. "I would like to meet this mech that is like me."

"That can be arranged, if you return with us," Prime offered carefully. He knew he was rolling on slick roads, but it was a necessary risk.

Mary considered him, and the offer, for a lingering moment.

"We'll take my transport," she countered. "Ratchet and Jenn will fly with me."

"That is acceptable," Prime inclined his head after a quick glance at his CMO to confirm he was agreeable. "When do you wish to leave?"

"My modified 272 will take off at twenty-three-thirty local time from Aeroport de Valncia," Mary said. "Anyone coming should be there. Just drive on board. You'll be expected."

"I know where and how to ID the right bird," Jenn spoke up.

* * *

"Go for a run," Ironhide growled at Nightshade when the mech had proven unable to focus on anything but the eastern sky for an hour. "And don't come back until you can _focus_."

He hadn't even finished before the youth had shifted to weapon form and darted, a full stride run, directly east.

::Tread Bolt, keep an optic on Nightshade, will'ya?:: Jazz transmitted to only the small stealth craft, the only Autobot on Earth so far to be allowed to keep his original alt by Prime. ::Something's up, and it's not his normal restlessness of being on base.::

::Sure thing, sexy,:: the playful aerial mech replied and took off, transforming into his nearly invisible alt mode and flying high to avoid Nightshade's attention. ::I'll keepya updated.::

::Thank'ya mah pretty ghost,:: Jazz blew a kiss over the comm and left the channel open for updates as he went back to delving into the intelligence networks of his new home. They came in the familiar, minimum-detail bursts he knew well from working with the stealth-obsessed mech; location, direction and speed of movement, notable things passed in transit.

Ninety minutes into the updates, and Jazz tensed.

"The shadow see something?" Mirage looked over at him.

"Nightshade just altered course," he answered quietly. "He's coming back. I'd say he's chasing the two transports coming in."

"He's never cared before," Mirage said with a curious note as Jazz walked over to the central control in the Intel control room and brought up the flight data on the incoming transports and Nightshade's movements.

"One flight with injured Autobots and dead Decepticons, one with Perceptor and Whiplash," Jazz nodded, his optics taking in the data that continued to be relayed to him and placed on the display. "There's something about _this_ flight that triggered some hard-core latent programming."

"Territorial programming," Mirage suggested. "Before the war, there was a whole class of warrior-bots with it."

"Tower guards," Jazz nodded. "I remember. Acted pretty normal until you crossed some line only they saw, then the whole lot of'm come down on ya like you'd killed their bonded in front of'm."

"They served their purpose," Mirage said simply. "We looked up his former life. There is nothing in it to suggest that kind of nature."

"There had to be a reason the Allspark chose her to become Nightshade, to be different from almost every other transformed human. My guess is it has something to do with Bloody Mary being on one of those planes. Ratchet's initial scans indicated she has the same developmental quirks as he does."

"If they are like two Tower guards from different towers, we are going to see quiet a show," Mirage said quietly, his tone containing a subtle warning from what he'd seen early in life. "It would be best if Prime and Ironhide are on the ground to control Nightshade if he reacts the way a guard would."

"The planes will land at least half a joor before he gets back," Jazz said after double-checking his calculations. "I've warned both transports and Tread. They'll be ready for an outburst and so will we."

Mirage nodded acceptance of his leader's calculations and went back to work with little thought to what would go down until they received the notice that the NEST C-17 was coming in for a landing. Without exchanging more than a glance, the pair walked out to the landing strip to wait for the transport to roll into place.

Prime walked out first, taking in who was present and who wasn't, their general mood and condition, before focusing on Jazz, who'd come to greet him. "How likely is this to become violent?"

"If it's the programming Mirage thinks it's similar too, quite likely," Jazz answered quietly. "He fixated east as soon as her plane crossed over land. When Ironhide turned him loose to run it off, he bolted in direct line for that plane, and is following it back. Whatever beacon he's sensing, it's got him riled up something fierce."

"Ratchet indicated that she became highly agitated at the same time," Prime watched over his shoulder as the much smaller Boeing 727 began to taxi into position next to the NEST C-17.

Jenn was the first one out, not even bothering to wait until the plane stopped rolling to dart onto the tarmac in alt form and drove directly for Mirage.

"I think she missed ya," Jazz teased, watching as she skidded to a stop, transformed and wrapped her arms around the noble's shoulders to pull him in for a kiss in a single fluid motion. "Yap, definitely missed ya," he chuckled as Mirage returned the kiss and wrapped his arms around her briefly.

"You've only been gone a few days," Mirage said calmly despite the way her actions made his systems heat.

"I know," Jenn giggled and stepped back as she became aware just how much attention she'd garnered. "Wanted to give you a good welcome before mentioning what you were kinda volunteered for," she shifted a little uncomfortably.

"And what would that be?" Mirage looked at her, his expression absolutely neutral.

"Mary wants to spend a few nights with a mech that knows what they're doing with a former human," she put it as diplomatically as she could. "I'm not inclined to let that be the Twins if it can be helped, and Jazz," she inclined her head to their CO. "Has too much rank to relax with."

"That all?" Mirage chuckled lightly and lowered his head to kiss her gently again as she relaxed. "I don't mind."

A rush of air escaped Jenn's vents as Ratchet, Mary and DerRitter disembarked. "Good," she murmured as they went to greet the pair.

Every cog and cable in Mary's frame was pulled taunt, and DerRitter didn't seem much calmer. He wanted the heavy riffle across his back in his hands, but discipline kept it where it was.

"There is nothing to fear here," Prime spoke with gentle firmness.

"Is the other one, Nightshade, here?" Mary scanned the score and a half worth of bots she didn't know.

"He's on a run in the desert," Jazz told her with a motion east.

Mary glanced uneasily east and nodded. "You would be Jazz, the Autobot's Intel CO. My muscle, DerRitter," she motioned to the mech standing next to her, taking in everyone and everything with a keyed up professional manner.

"The Knight?" Jazz grinned up at him. "Quite a name. Welcome to NEST Base 1."

"Thank you," Mary nodded to Jazz politely.

::Jazz, he's coming in _fast_ ,:: Tread Bolt warned them. ::Found a road and hit the gas.::

"Nightshade's almost here," Mary spoke before he could. "Just how much combat training has he gotten?" she asked as she turned to face the main gate.

"Two weeks with us, and basic USMC from '93," Jazz supplied quickly.

"Good," she relaxed a bit. "That means we should both come out of this alive."

"What are you planning to do?" Prime stepped up, ready to stop things by force if required.

Mary glanced up at him for a brief moment. "Pin him long enough for it to sink in that I'm not here to kill him. At least if this works like it did with the African."

"Then not a fight," he double-checked.

"If half of what Jenn said is true, it'll be a fight, just not one with much damage," her head turned to look at him and snapped back to face the charge just as a roar of raw fury shook the base.

Mary took a step forward, transforming as she did into a monster that put Nightshade's weapon form to shame for size and mass. It was more than enough to cause the gathered Autobots and humans to back up and give the pair as much room as they wanted.

"Werebear vs. werewolf, this won't last long," Jazz watched the two giants slam into each other. Far more of his attention was on DerRitter, who was twitching, his frame even more tense than Mary's had been as he watched the one he was tasked to protect fight without him. That took self-control, far more than could be achieved in a few months. So The Knight had done this as a human, just as Jenn and Mary had been Intel and still were.

But why were most of the former humans now normal Cybertronians but three that he knew of were were-Cybertronians with different animal bases and radically different core programming?

He flinched in sympathy when Mary caught Nightshade shoulder and groin and flipped her over, shaking the base with the impact. In the time it took Nightshade to synch her body and processors, she was pinned by the significantly larger body wrist, legs and her throat locked in Mary's much more massive ones.

Nightshade struggled, twisted and kicked in an effort to free herself, but like when Ironhide got her pinned, it eventually sunk in that there was no escaping and she went quietly lax, her chest heaving as she sucked in air to cool critical systems.

::I'm not here to take what's yours,:: Mary transmitted openly as her vocals would be difficult to understand given her mouth was wrapped around Nightshade's throat. ::Now, can we agree behave like civilized adults?::

Nightshade growled, a deep rumble that vibrated the earth for dozens of yards. ::Yes.::

"Good," Mary let out a relieved breath as she unlocked her jaws and stood up, freeing her captive. She stood up, transforming to robot mode as she did and kept an optic on Nightshade as she did the same. "I'm here by invitation and I want to stay as much as you want me to be here."

Nightshade was still shaking, his frame pulled taught by the strain. "How long?" he managed to grate out.

Mary gave a pointed look to Ratchet, who was watching with nearly as much fascination as Jazz.

"A few days to a week," the CMO answered, and received nearly matching looks of displeasure bordering on rebellion from both of them. "So you _can_ agree on something."

"Forty-eight hours," Mary said firmly. "Then I'm going home. I'm sure you want to know just how much a strain this puts on both of us to be in the same territory," she continued as she walked to him and caught his arm. "You've got his baselines. Just watch them."

"How much of that can you explain?" Prime walked up to Nightshade, his hand motion causing the gathering to disperse quickly.

Nightshade looked solidly to the ground, to just in front of his five-prong feet. "Ever ... have you ever had your brain click off?" he glanced up, briefly and not quiet making it to Prime's optics before dropping down again. "Had your world reduced to instinct and reflex?"

"Yes," he nodded, his voice gentling slightly. "It is not desirable, but it happens to everyone. Mary seemed to indicate it was specific to when one of your kind of triple-changer enters the territory of another."

"I ... can't say I'd argue the point," he said uncertainly. "Can't say it's true, but I don't know anything that says it isn't."

Prime nodded. "Can you control yourself while she is here?"

"Yes, Sir," he nodded a bit.


	10. Medical Sociology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Prime both find out a few things about their guest that Jazz knew, and had the sense not to say.

Prime took in the med-bay with a critical optic. Ratchet had First Aid bustling about, getting equipment and supplies or just staying out of the way. DerRitter seemed to be trying his best to look relaxed as he leaned against the wall near the door. It didn't take much experience to see that he was anything but relaxed. His optics darted everywhere, and as Prime continued to watch him out of the corner of his optics, a definite pattern emerged. One meant to take in as much detail as possible and cover the highest number of potential hazards in the shortest amount of time.

For all she was agreeable and compliant to Ratchet, Mary didn't look any more relaxed than her protector. Her focus was singular however, to a point that led to a corner of the barracks, then the sparring field, and into the desert. No doubt somewhere on that line Nightshade was just as fixated here.

"Who's the African?" Prime asked conversationally while Ratchet studied readings and compared them to Nightshade and other former humans as well as Cybertronian standards. He was fully aware that Mirage was in the room and invisible, but it wouldn't change what he was doing much.

"The first one like me that I met," she said easily, relaxing as much as she could and watching as Prime sat down on the berth next to hers. "She goes by Kesia. A lioness in the way I'm a bear and Nightshade's a wolf. She was raiding for metals when I finally caught her and chased her out of Europe. She keeps sending her pride to raid for her, at least according to my sources. As long as she stays off my turf, it doesn't demand my immediate attention."

"That demand for immediate attention is similar to what just happened with Nightshade?" Prime considered the possibility, a very disturbing one to him. A group that aggressively territorial could be more dangerous than the Decepticons if they encountered the wrong triggers.

"If you mean intense, instinctive and nearly impossible to control, yes," she nodded politely, then glanced at Ratchet when he huffed.

"Do you know where Kesia is now?" Ratchet asked, his optics on his readouts.

"Africa," she said, them smiled at his annoyance. "As long as she stays out of Europe, I don't track her that closely. I have enough to deal with in my own yard."

"Understandable," Prime said agreeably. "Do you know of any others?"

"Rumor, no facts," she shook her head. "I've heard of a tiger in Siberia and a dragon in India and Asia. I expect there's someone in Australia and in South America, but no word on what, much less who. I wouldn't be surprised if there are a few aquatics as well, but again, nothing that's even a rumor yet in my area."

"Aquatic?" Ratchet was now fully focused on her.

"This planet _is_ seventy percent water," Mary gave him an indulgent look. "I expect any network designed to protect it would have aquatic members."

"What makes you believe your group is meant to protect Earth?" Prime asked with keen interest, even more so when Mary laughed playfully.

"You did _see_ how Nightshade responded to a perceived threat to his domain?" Her smiled was becoming a grin. "I don't suppose you've taken him out of North America yet?"

"Not yet," he acknowledged, still uncertain where this was going.

"You probably don't want to, for a couple reasons," she settled in to a briefing mode. "Judging from my reactions when I leave my territory, and the response of three of us when someone comes into ours, it's an invitation to violence. Nightshade would have killed me if he could. I would have killed Kesia if I'd caught her, and she definitely tried to kill me when we crossed into Africa."

"You have significant self-control to battle Nightshade and not give in to the urge to kill," Prime inclined his head in both respect and appreciation. "Yet you are little older than him."

Mary smiled at him, a secretive little smile and leaned over a bit. "I'd be willing to bet the answer to any question that his life didn't depend on it before."

Ratchet made a small warning sound but otherwise continued to be largely invisible in his study of their guest and her guard.

"He didn't as far as we know," Prime acknowledged.

Mary's smile deepened into a playfully seductive one. "Does that mean I have my question answered?"

"I will answer if I can," Prime promised, though it was nothing he wouldn't do for any potential ally.

"Close enough," Mary chuckled lightly and leaned back, braced against her outstretched hands. "How long do you plan to stay on Earth?" she motioned around her, encompassing everything.

"As long as we are welcome here," Prime answered honestly. "Cybertron is no more."

All the good humor vanished from Mary in a sparkbeat.

"War or age?" she asked softly and reached out to place her hand gently over his in a decidedly human gesture of comfort.

"War," he said, his deep voice laced with pain and grief. "A war we brought here, and have, with hope, neared the end of."

Mary regarded him for a long, silent moment.

"Do you plan to kill or convert the survivors?" she asked almost cautiously.

"If any _will_ convert, they will be welcome," Prime answered with hope, but no expectation.

She nodded slightly and made a small click so he looked directly at her. "Show me who, I'll tell you where."

The statement earned her an almost curious and slightly surprised look.

"I'm not as ignorant of your battles as you might think," she smiled slyly. "It was my focus before I became this. Now, it's my life."

"How much _do_ you know?" Prime looked at her with a carefully neutral expression. "That we didn't tell you," he added.

Mary considered the question, the situation, and nodded.

"In 1897 a giant robot and a cube that radiated energy were discovered in the artic by a US expedition, prompting the creation of Sector 7 by the US and many comparable agencies and departments around the world. The alien and cube were recovered and moved several times before finally being imprisoned under Boulder Dam as it was constructed in the early 1930's. Now it's known the robot was Lord Megatron of the Decepticons, and the cube was the Allspark. Both are considered destroyed.

"In 1903 a second giant robot was discovered by a German expedition. Reverse engineering it led to much of the technology Germany developed for the two World Wars. Britain claimed it as a spoil of war in 1945, largely because we found it first."

"Where is he now?" Prime tried to keep the tension from his voice.

"Paperwork is being processed for transfer to my unit," Mary gave him a slight smile of reassurance. "I'm fairly sure he's an Autobot, at least in design. I wouldn't mind knowing his name before he wakes up."

Prime considered her, what he knew and what he didn't know. "If he's Decepticon?"

"I'll kill him with as little damage to the rest of the body as possible," she shrugged. "I can't find either insignia on him anywhere, in records or when I looked in person. I don't suppose you have pictures of your MIA officers?"

"Too many," Prime said grimly. "What can you describe of him?"

"Twenty two point four two one six meters tall, eight point four five metric tonnes, white with red markings, a probable air or space craft vehicle form, though I can't be sure," she rattled off the basic stats she knew. "How much does that narrow things down?"

"A great deal," Jazz said as he walked in with a now visible Mirage. "How's the tension?"

"Better," she inclined her head to him. "Where did you send him?"

Jazz cocked a grin. "I asked him and Tred Bolt to do a full low altitude sweep of North America. It should take them a day or two, longer if they spot something interesting or Nightshade gets into flight practice. The mech does love to fly, even if he can't land yet," he chuckled at the memories. "Only three MIAs meet that basic description, but you said he didn't have any insignia?"

"Not that has been found," she nodded cautiously.

"That eliminates actual Autobots and Decepticons," Jazz told her. "It doesn't eliminate all the friendly MIAs, however. Six others never returned from deep space missions and never left a clue where they had crashed. I don't believe it's any of them. I believe his name is Skyfire. He was reported lost and deactivated on this world well before the war began."

"Do you have a picture of him?" Mary asked, noting the shocked stiffness in Prime's frame.

Jazz brought a small circular device from his subspace and turned it on. Immediately a holographic image of a soft-optic, finely-featured and very tall mech appeared standing next to a black and blue Cybertronian Seeker.

"That's my ice cube," Mary said with certainty. "So what can you tell me about him?"

"Skyfire's an explorer and scientist. He did more work gathering and organizing data than actual projects. Too well educated to be an assistant, but not quite the processor-set to be lead," Jazz summed it up.

"Then he is likely to listen before shooting," Mary sounded as relieved as she looked. "Always a plus."

"I would like to be there when you wake him," Prime said firmly, and was privately surprised to meet no resistance.

"It would be very welcome," she smiled over at him. "Would you be someone he'd recognize?"

"Optimus was Prime before Skyfire left on his last exploratory mission," Mirage spoke up. "He should recognize him, though there is no guarantee those memories will be easily accessed, or still intact."

"It's better than nothing," Mary pointed out calmly. "Besides, it's only fair to show you my place after you've welcomed me here. I'll have something resembling a proper med-bay set up by then," she promised with a look at Ratchet, who hrumphed in acceptance.

"So, are you done with our guest?" Mirage asked Ratchet with unusual directness.

The CMO raised an optic ridge and nodded. "As much as she'll trust me with today."

"Trust you with?" Jazz gave her curious look.

"A direct link to my memory banks? I don't think so," Mary said dryly and hopped down from the berth.

"I'm a medical professional," Ratchet repeated stiffly.

"Yes, a doctor. I know," she replied smoothly. "Look up what Nazi doctors did in the name of medicine sometime and maybe you'll get the lack of trust until _I'm_ sure of you beyond your title. Whatever you believe in, _I've_ had the misfortune to be raised by a species with no morals at all."

"Many humans we have encountered are honorable," Prime stood as he objected.

"I'm not sure if that makes you extremely lucky, me extremely unlucky, or your standards deplorably low," Mary turned to face him, hand on her hips.

"Mary," Jazz spoke up, an unusual sharpness in his voice that made her whirl to face the smaller mech. "When was the last time you even _tried_ to talk to an outsider without an ulterior motive?"

She glared at him, back at Prime, and settled on Jazz again. "Point taken. Mine still stands with doctors."

"How _dare_..." Ratchet all but exploded, his processors unable to even find the curses in Cybertronian to express himself with as he made a hard lunge for Mary, only to be stopped by slamming into Prime as the larger mech stepped in the way.

"I think he just hit 'Nazi' on the net," Jazz took in the rare sight of the medic in a fully blind rage. Behind him he heard the heavy thudding of Ironhide rushing to find out what had gotten such a rise from his bonded.

"They're not the worst, just the best known," Mary said, watching the fury only escalate as more data on the atrocities committed by doctors flooded the CMO's processors. "Ratchet," she finally said in exasperation as Ironhide thundered into the room. "I didn't say you _were_ one. I was making a point that 'doctor' and 'patient's best interest' do not go hand in hand on this planet. Especially not in my field."

Ironhide looked at Ratchet, then at her, Prime, Jazz and back to her.

"What the _Pit_ did you say?" he demanded even as he stepped up and caught Ratchet across the shoulders and pulled him away from Prime, twisting to slam his bonded against the med-bay wall and pressed his body against the smaller mech to pin him.

"I told him to look up 'Nazi' to understand why I don't trust him at his title," she answered with a touch of annoyance.

It was quite enough to draw another roar of outrage from Ratchet, and a rumble of agreement from Ironhide.

"I'm sorry," Mary said suddenly, her voice somewhat soft.

It was unexpected enough to bring Ratchet up short, if only briefly.

"If you _ever_..." he sputtered.

"Point taken. You're still not plugging into me," she glared at him. "You don't have the clearance for half of what you asked for, much less what you could access."

"Don't have the clearance?" Ratchet stared at her in disbelief. "I'm the _Chief Medical Officer_!"

"Of Cybertron. Of the Autobots," she said calmly, locking optics with him. "Not of MI6. Not of my unit. You aren't even allied with the UK yet."

Ratchet glared at her, then at Ironhide, who was going his best to distract him.

"Just how far are you pushing your authority right now?" Prime asked as it finally registered that like Jenn, she hadn't surrendered her human allegiance when she surrendered her human body.

Mary regarded him evenly. "As far as I dare for now. I have tremendous latitude when it comes to my alliances and those under my command, and the methods I employ in doing my job. I cannot speak for my government."

"Who will deny you, and your unit, even exist, I expect," Jazz guessed.

"They'd do that even when I was human," Mary chuckled lightly. "It's the nature of the business and politics. You know that."

"I'm one of the few Autobots who will ever understand it," he cocked a grin at her. "Com'n. Let's introduce you around, and let 'Hide calm Ratchet down."

"Works for me," she nodded, though her expression wasn't as easy as her words.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody Mary samples what the Autobots consider a party in her honor.

Bloody Mary walked next to Mirage as Jazz led them to one of the large hanger-like buildings that dominated the base that her brief pre-med-bay tour had been introduced as the common room.

"Are you from a different sub-type of Cybertronian?" she asked amicably, her curiosity more absent than focused.

"What makes you ask?" Mirage glanced up at her.

"You don't quite fit in, even with Jazz," she motioned her head slightly to his CO. "You're of finer construction, elegant even. Your movement is smoother, the grace that typically comes from being born into wealth and spending more time looking good than trying to survive. Of all the accents on Earth, you chose that of the royal family. The only thing that doesn't fit in to is your coloring. Light blue is by far the most popular one on base."

Jazz didn't hide his mirthful laugh. "You don't miss much."

"I like to live," she winked and grinned at him. "It's the most important skill, and talent, in the field."

"Too true," Jazz agreed amicably.

"Yes, I am," Mirage answered her original question. "I was commissioned as a Tower mech, a lesser noble."

"Prime's a greater noble," Jazz added, sure what her next question would be. "They're leaders, politicians and judges. Lesser nobles are the more social, general-education types."

"What are the other types?" she perked up in keen interest.

"Scouts are the smallest. Bumblebee and I are in that class. Not all are Intel, but a high number are. Given your size, you would be considered one as well.

"Frontliners are big and combat-focused. Most older ones are like Ironhide, with heavy armor and powerful ranged weapons. Since the war began more have been designed like Sunstreaker and Sideswipe; fast, light and more suited for the hit and run tactics we've been using lately. More femmes have been frontliners as well."

"That's not just a job description, then?" she cocked her head at him.

"It's a mixture of job, training, frametype and processor type. There used to be more clear-cut lines, and many more frametype designations, before the war."

"Before it came down to 'everybody does what needs doing or we don't survive'," Mary said in understanding. "Long wars have the same effect everywhere."

"Some things are universal," Jazz agreed quietly. "Seeker is the last frametype. They're natural fliers. Everyone else was under the general category of Commoner.

"A typical femme will be 80% the height and 50% the mass of a mech of the comparable frametype, though it is not universal. You and Carrie are both heavier than average for a mech of your type."

"Carrie ... another former human?"

"Yap," he grinned as he swiped his hand across the low-security door and paused to let Mary and Mirage adjust to the loud, rowdy atmosphere. "Most kept their human first names when they joined up."

Mirage took it in his usual stride; just a small tightening of his finely crafted features as he turned down optic and audio receptors to compensate for what everyone else seemed to enjoy.

Mary took an involuntary step back as she blinked and did the same.

"Impressive soundproofing," she managed to say as they stepped inside and allowed the door to close. "Who didn't keep their name?"

"Nightshade," Jazz chuckled, backing vocalizer up with an ultra-short-range radio transmission. "I would say you and Jenn, but I understand they are names you used as humans."

"They are," she nodded, taking in the dancing, drinking and revelry. Also noting who was with who, which were likely couples and which only friends and doing her best to name everyone there and try to classify their frametypes with mixed success.

"Do you dance?" Mirage offered his hand to her.

"Just about everything from Earth," Mary flashed a soft smiled at him and accepted the invitation with the demure smile she usually reserved for playing princess.

"I know many," he returned the smile and stepped towards the dance floor. "Do you wish to lead?"

"I do enjoy it," she admitted and took the next step ahead of him in a subtle shift few would even notice.

::You're okay with this?:: Jazz asked Jenn silently when he walked up to his most junior agent.

Her optics remained fixed on her lover and her rival as Mary picked up the beat of the music for them. ::As long as it stays professional.::

::As long as he knows that's your expectation, it will,:: Jazz assured her and guided her to the table with mid-grade energon cubes stacked high. He picked up two and offered her one.

::So where's Prowl?:: she asked with a sly smile.

::His office, as usual.:: Jazz grinned. ::I'm sure this would blow his logic circuits.::

::You know it,:: she laughed and began to relax a little, only to stiffen as something over his shoulder on the dance floor.

Jazz turned, and zeroed in on the problem instantly. ::It can't be a surprise,:: he teased her, and twisted to catch her around the midsection when she moved forward. ::She's older than you, sweetie. She can choose her own lovers.::

::But the _Twins_?:: she objected as the pair closed in on Mirage and Mary. Sunstreaker caught Mirage by the shoulder and pulled him back slightly while Sideswipe stepped in to face Mary.

Mary pinged DerRitter to keep him where he was and backed it up with a flash of her fingers. She knew he'd moved for the heavy riffle and would shoot both the Autobots without hesitation if he thought she was in any danger. She just wasn't in _enough_ danger to warrant that.

"You're far too pretty to be dancing with a ghost," Sideswipe reached out to the much smaller bot and caught her arm.

"I happen to like ghosts," she countered coyly and pulled her arm away with minimal pressure, her optics flicking towards Mirage to check his reaction. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of his calmness, but all around the four of them space was being made by those still dancing to the thundering music.

::If you wish to dance with them, I will back off,:: Mirage offered privately.

::They are not my type,:: she told him firmly even as she glared at Sideswipe.

"You've never been with a real mech," Sideswipe caught her chin with the side of his finger and tipped her face up.

"And that would be you two?" she put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin off his finger in defiance. ::Ignore him. He's trying to pick a fight.:: she transmitted to DerRitter. "A couple of pretty-boy bullies are not my idea of real mechs."

::So are you. This isn't like you, Mary,:: DerRitter replied with open concern. ::First the doctor, now the resident psychotics?::

::It's ... it's this place,:: she said more evenly, her private voice faltering slightly. It didn't show in her optics that still locked on those more than six feet above her.

"Bullies?" Sunstreaker went taut at the accusation, his battle blades snapped into place with a rumble of his engine.

"What else would you call pulling my date away without invitation?" she stepped to the side to lock optics with the bright yellow warrior.

"Being forward," Sideswipe butted in.

Mary glanced towards him. "Being forward is _asking_ if you can have the next dance. Pulling him away is just rude."

No one missed the snickers and relatively quiet cheers of approval at her dressing down of the twins, though it silenced quickly with the glares the pair cast around.

"Fine, we're rude," Sunstreaker snapped at her and retracted his battle blades. "No one's ever claimed we were anything but the deadliest warriors the Autobots have ever produced. Polite doesn't cut it on the battlefield."

"Polite is what I want," she said as firmly as she could and motioned them to shoo. "Find someone who likes it rough to play with."

The twins looked at her, then each other, and shrugged as one and stalked off, their focus on another new arrival, Tracks.

Mary shook her head and stepped up to Mirage, offering her hand to begin dancing again.

::She told you to stand down, didn't she?:: Jazz asked DerRitter privately as the party settled down and got back to it's riotous norm.

::You saw that, huh?:: the guard grunted with a touch of humor. ::I've guarded her for a quarter century, and I'll warn you for that wolf you've got. Don't take him out of his territory. Ever. For _any_ reason. Cut him loose if you have to.::

::She's that out of sorts?:: Jazz shot a glance at Mary and Mirage, then worked his way closer to DerRitter.

::That and more,:: he admitted grimly. ::I'm going to try and convince her to head home once she's been here long enough. _He_ can visit easier than _she_ can relax here.::

::And you won't relax until she's back home,:: Jazz filled in the blanks. ::You are right, he can visit easily. She's faking it well, but she's as tense as you are.::

::More,:: DerRitter corrected, giving in one word enough for Jazz to want to break the visit off right now.

"Why don't you enjoy the party? We are responsible for her safety now," Jazz suggested. "At least have some energon," he offered at the minute amount of additional tension in the frontliner's frame.

DerRitter considered him for a moment, glanced at Mary and around the room, and nodded. "Energon does sound good," he admitted, and allowed Jazz to guide him to the table where several colors of cubes were stacked.

"Pale blue is half-strength. You might want to start there. Several former humans have had difficulty with the medium blue standard strength. Dark blue is mid-grade, a strong beer or wine. Green is high-grade, the darker the stronger. That almost black cube is Ironhide's special blend, the equivalent of a hundred and eighty proof."

"I think I'll like him," DerRitter laughed for the first time since they met, though he picked up a pale blue cube and turned his attention back to Mary with only a few seconds of lost optic contact. "What's the pink stuff that Ratchet has?"

"I expect so," Jazz agreed easily and sipped the dark blue cube still in his hand, all too accustomed to showing how to do it. "That's med-grade. It's processed energon for direct injection into patients."

"Nutrient-blood drip?" he asked, much more interested in Jazz now.

"That would a reasonable comparison," he agreed. "Energon is both our fuel and the equivalent of blood."

"So if you go through this much in a night for thirty-odd people, how have we survived so long with none?"

Jazz smiled and took another sip. Ratchet had covered all this in the past few hours, but he had covered it in medicalese. "You've noticed your energy reserves slowly dropping? Rest and sunbathing help, but only to a point. It can take centuries to drain completely if you're careful, weeks or less in hard combat."

DerRitter grunted, nodded and downed the half-strength cube in one long swallow. "I know you're head of Intel. What's your place in the command structure?" he asked as he reached behind him and grabbed one of the medium-blue cubes without looking and moved a bit away with Jazz.

"Prime's First Lieutenant; second in command overall," he answered. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the look he got for it.

"So you found yourself a general who has proper respect for Intel?" DerRitter chuckled.

"As much as I'd like to say so, it has more to do with my ability to run tactical with all elements but half ours unknown," Jazz cocked a grin and lifted his cube in a toast. "I'm not the best tactician in the army, but I'm the most adaptable on the fly."

"So who's the best?" he asked, taking a small sip of standard grade, then a larger one.

"Prowl," Jazz didn't conceal the warmth in his voice.

"The black and white?" he looked surprised, then checked himself. ::A mech?:: he asked more cautiously, just between them.

"Yes, Prowl's a mech," Jazz answered out loud with a reassuring look. "Cybertronians don't associate much importance to gender. We don't use it to reproduce; interface equipment is the same for all frames and frametypes. As you've seen, while there are some norms to tell mech from femme, they aren't nearly as well-defined as in humans or most animals."

"Rather like trying to tell what a bird is," DerRitter acknowledged with a look around. "Well, maybe not that hard, but I get the point. I'd strongly recommend keeping that on the quiet side around most, especially anyone former military."

"They're doing fine so far," Jazz gave him a curious look.

"Really?" he blinked in genuine surprise. "Military are usually the most homophobic cretins short of a skinhead gang."

Jazz chuckled, even as he filed that away to look into more thoroughly later. "We aren't getting the usual types around here, you know."

"True," DerRitter admitted. "You still might want to keep it quiet around most of my team," he sighed. "The mechs at any rate. The humans are good."

"The humans are good, but the mechs aren't?" Jazz repeated curiously. "Why's that?"

DerRitter let out a deep grumbling sigh from his vents and along his entire upper body. "The humans we've worked with for years. They've seen and done too much with us to even blink at the idea."

"Then the other mechs..."

"Our job," he shrugged. "They're adapting, being retrained for jobs within the unit, but they're still more outsider than us."

"If any of them have too much trouble with the Intel aspect of your unit, they might fit in better here," Jazz said carefully. "The Autobots are more generalized. We do have what would be civilians here too. Not everyone fights."

"We'll keep it in mind," DerRitter promised, then considered the much smaller, lighter mech. "Who are the serious couples here?"

Jazz gave him a cheeky grin. "Ratchet and Ironhide and Bumblebee and Sam are the only exclusive pairings. While Prowl and I have an open relationship, it's more about my duties than any desire for it."

"You did a lot of undercover work?" DerRitter guessed.

"That and as moral officer, sometimes it's up to me to help out when somebody needs to get laid badly and doesn't have a partner," he shrugged. "A good overload or three does wonders for most bot's temperament."

DerRitter couldn't contradict that. It was true enough for humans, they just didn't have an officer for it. "And that doesn't cause problems, with you being second in command?"

"Nah, man. We aren't wired that way," Jazz assured him. "Silver Shadow and Starjumper are bonded," he motioned to the two femmes watching them and chatting excitedly with a lightly built black mech not much taller than they were. "They're chatting with Whiplash."

"That's the same tone you say Prowl's name," he observed.

Jazz chuckled. "We were together for a long time, trained me. He's the best there is at what he does."

"What does he do?" DerRitter asked cautiously.

"He's Black Ops," he flashed a grinned. "We're still close, but he's the wrong kind of intense for me for a bond."

The former human could only nod. Sure, half of all this was already in their files from observation, but it was still strange to have an _Intel_ officer be so free with such details.

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker will always be together, but they'll never stop dragging others into their berth. It's a twin thing, for us."

"Wait, they're _brothers_?" DerRitter couldn't keep the sick shock from his manner.

"While the term is used, no," Jazz shook his head. "They are twins; a single spark - soul - that is trapped in two separate bodies. Each contains half of the whole."

"But why..." he couldn't even phrase the question.

The understanding, sympathetic look Jazz gave him didn't help much either.

"There's interfacing, a fairly direct correlation to sex without reproductive connotations, but we can also share our spark, our soul, with another," Jazz tried to explain in a way that might be understood. "It's the most intimate thing we do. Both sides ... cease to exist as separate entities for a moment. For twins, it's a needed reinforcement for their continued existence. It doesn't have to be sexual, but once a bot has matured fully, it's rare for it not to."

"Okay," he murmured, still trying to accept the idea that incest was normal for these people.

"Chromia has a long-standing relationship with both Prime and Hound, though it's far more serious with Prime. Mirage and Hound are bonded, and then there's Mirage and Jenn. It's very new, but it shows all the sighs of lasting for at least a few millennia."

"Wait ... Mirage, as in the mech who's dancing with Mary?" he tensed sharply.

"Relax," Jazz put a hand on his shoulder. "It was Jenn's suggestion. She's good with it. Trust me, Mirage would never offer to dance with her if Jenn objected, and Jenn would not keep her irritation a secret. At least not from him or me."

"All right. And Jenn's not with Hound?" he said hesitantly as his optics sought out Jenn and decided that she was fully aware of events, and they didn't bother her.

"Nah, he's just not her type. It may change. It may not. He does tend to grow on you," Jazz smiled fondly for the shock that had been when Jenn had first found out.

DerRitter nodded and tried to wrap his processors around that before giving up. "Any other couples?"

"Many, some that change from night to night," Jazz grinned. "But those are the stable ones."

"Would any of the femmes be agreeable to what Mirage is doing? Visit and ... well..."

"Oh yeah," Jazz laughed easily. "Arcee, Firestar, Carrie and Lisa are probably all agreeable. Arcee and Firestar definitely are. You don't have any other femmes?"

"There's Dartmond, but frankly, she's scary," DerRitter said without embarrassment. "Right up there with Mary, but less social, more psycho. She likes her job _way_ too much. But really no one with a clue what we're doing."

"I know the type," Jazz promised. "How many do you have?"

"Mmm, five with combat training, four that know how to duck and seven civvies," he tallied their numbers. "Not the unit any of us are used to, but probably about the mix you've got."

"Of former humans, it sounds right," he agreed and allowed the conversation to fall silent when he saw Arcee working her way towards them with her usual intent.

"Hello handsome," the bright pink femme rolled up to DerRitter on her single wheel with a smile and bright optics. "Since yours is away, why not dance with me?"

"Go on," Jazz flashed him a smile. "I've got security under control."

"Just no dancing that takes me out of the room," he decided after a glance at Mary, and the hand signal she flashed him.


	12. Homecoming Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Bloody Mary's visit is as primal as Jazz expected, but Nightshade's response to the Twins is anything but what he anticipated. It all leads Jazz to a critical decision and some relaxation in his bonded's office.

"What the frag?" Sunstreaker grabbed his brother for support and looked around at those waiting their turn on the sparring grounds as the ground shook lightly an hour after dawn.

"Earthquake," Ironhide grumbled. "Good thousand miles away."

"Aftershocks'll be coming for days," Major Lennox added, his attention more on Tracks facing off against Starjumper and Hound against Robert. "Turn on the news. Anything we feel from that far will be _huge_."

Bumblebee promptly brought up the news, scanning through channels until one caught his attention.

"In the breaking story, reports of earthquakes ranging from 0.5 to 3.2 are coming in from all over the US and Canada. Epicenters are on the boarder of central Manitoba and Saskatchewan and eastern Nebraska. Damage reports are minimal with no deaths reported. The scientific community still has no explanation for how the quakes occurred where they did."

::Not to butt in, but I do,:: Tread Bolt announced over Jazz's comm. ::Our resident werewolf caused them. She's transforming to weapon mode, hitting dirt and launching into jet mode again. We're currently crossing the Mexican-American boarder.::

"Have you found out why?" Optimus asked.

::She's not talking, though she is communicating with _something_ ,:: Tread Bolt said with a trace of annoyance at his failure. ::If you want my opinion, it's a territorial display. She broke off patrol to 'escort' Bloody Mary off the continent, swung around north west and started. I bet she'll hit ground again south of Mexico City.::

"Jazz?" Prime focused on him, sure his Chief of Intelligence had been listening to every sound Nightshade made since his arrival.

"No direct translation, but Tread Bolt has the gist of it correct," he answered easily. "She's broadcasting a general challenge. As long as Mary doesn't turn around, she'll calm down soon. I expect she'll return after the next impact."

"You're talking like it makes sense," Sideswipe glared at the smaller bot.

"It does, in context," Jazz cocked a grin. "Seismic vibrations travel far an' quick. All she's doing is reasserting her claim to the area now that the invader has been driven off. Even if the invader was invited and never intended to stay."

"That is one screwed up head," Sam muttered. He quelled his reaction when Bumblebee put a hand on his shoulder, reminding him that they'd both bonded to someone just as alien, if not more so, and the kind of psychological trauma involved in becoming a Cybertronian.

"Not even Nightshade would disagree," Jazz shrugged. "It doesn't make it any less valid."

"Michael, Carrie, 'bot form only," Ironhide ordered the next pair. "Jenn, up against Whiplash. Try not to kill her this time," he glared at the small Black Ops mech as he stepped into the sparring area.

"Why are you calling him she now?" Sam asked more evenly. "Did he change his mind again?"

"No, Sam," Jazz looked over at the dark emerald green mech that now stood taller than Bumblebee, though not by much. "Only Nightshade's base is a mech. The other forms are femme."

The look their oldest human ally gave was one of complete exasperation and a bit of distaste, but Sam didn't say anything as attention turned back to the sparring.

* * *

Nearly two hours later Jazz was his office, analyzing terrorist patterns when his desk comm beeped for his attention, signaling an incoming comm for him.

"You're in your office, are you?" Tread Bolt laughed teasingly.

"Nice ta know the shielding works," Jazz teased back. "What's up, besides ya?"

"We're coming in. Want to judge her landing?"

"Has sh' improved any?" he chuckled to himself and stood, transferring the signal from his office to his personal comm as he stepped outside the protected area and secured the door behind him.

::Accuracy, yes. The rest, not so much,:: Tread Bolt snickered.

::See if you can get her to watch you land,:: Jazz said as he headed for an open area on the far side of the airstrip that Nightshade had developed a preference for in landing practice. Even though it was a preference that had been developed by careful manipulation on Jazz's part after watching the first effort and Nightshade's instinctive recovery method when he misjudged the landing, it was still the youngster's choice now.

He stopped on the far side of the airstrip and turned his optics southeast when his sensors picked up Nightshade's approaching F-15 form. Listening to the radio chatter between them, he chuckled when Nightshade's only reply to Tread Bolt's suggestion was a grunt of acceptance.

::Jazz, send'm here when he's down,:: Ironhide commed him. ::Sunny and Sides'll settle'm down.::

::That isn't necessary,:: Jazz insisted as he watched Tread Bolt transform and land lightly on his feet with the natural grace of a hatched flier. Jazz tilted his head up, locking his visor in record mode as the modified F-15 finished the loop around the base. He could already tell that Nightshade was coming in too fast and the angle was wrong.

"She's crazy, you know that, right boss?" Tread Bolt spared a glance from the Seeker equivalent of a train wreck to look at Jazz.

"I believe crazy is an understatement," Jazz mused as he watched Nightshade suddenly pull up. "But learning. How long did it take you to land smoothly?"

"True Seekers hatch knowing," the transparent Cybertronian responded tartly. "Even the clumsy ones learn with a few tries. That one," he nodded towards Nightshade as she came around for another try, "will never have a Seeker's grace."

"All she needs is enough skill to not frag anyone without meanin' ta," Jazz reminded him. "There's no way we'll keep her from flying."

"No," Tread Bolt granted reluctantly as the F-15 came back around, slower and at a steeper angle with it's belly flat to catch as much air resistance as possible. "Just don't get the impression she's a Seeker, no matter what shell she wears."

"I won't, and neither will Prime," 'he promised.

"Form's better," Ratchet commented as he walked up. "He'll still hit hard."

"Yap," Jazz agreed as Nightshade committed to the landing, transforming to base mode and trying to use his foot thrusters to slow himself enough to touch down rather than impact. He saw the instant Nightshade registered it wasn't going to end well.

A flash passed over Nightshade's form, converting the F-15 based robot form directly into the imposing canid weapon form.

"Oh, you did _not_ teach him that!" Ratchet glared furiously at Jazz as Nightshade hit on her feet and rolled forward.

"I've been trying to teach'm not to," Jazz insisted, his optics and visor still locked on Nightshade as she dung claws into the hard desert, gouging long furrows to deplete her momentum. "You have to admit it does less damage, even if it's bad for his spark and energy levels. You have had the pleasure of trying to break his instincts?"

Ratchet huffed and stalked towards the ill-tempered robotic werewolf, watching as she worked stones and clumps of earth out of her hands and feet where she'd finally come to a stop.

"You really shouldn't change like that," he glared down at her, taking advantage of her seated position to look a bit more imposing. "It can cause a spark short if you do it too often and will leave you weak in battle."

Nightshade stopped picking the rocks out of her hands and looked up at the CMO.

What she did next would never ceased to amaze Jazz. Her powerful head dropped to the ground and rolled over, taking about half of her body with it to display the underside of her long jaw, the long, powerful throat and chest.

Why would a _human_...

Jazz stopped that line of thought. Whatever Nightshade had been before, the reformatting was far more extensive than with the others. He was beginning to doubt that the human Nightshade had been was in the mech anymore. He knew Nightshade wouldn't argue with the statement either. He'd quite willingly abandoned all connection to his former life.

Ratchet sighed, mollified as usual by the display and apologetic whimpers Nightshade offered.

"If she's good ta go, Hide wants'r," Jazz said as he walked up the medic when Nightshade made a quick movement to right herself and transform to base mode.

Ratchet grunted his annoyance but turned to Nightshade. "Go. Just don't you _dare_ go anywhere but my med-bay if you're bleeding."

"Understood," he promised easily, and earnestly, before dropped to all fours into his smallest form and trotted towards the sparring field.

"That is the most confounding Pit-spawn of a glitching demon ever," Ratchet grumbled to himself as he headed back to the med bay.

Jazz shook his head and chuckled, unable to disagree at this point, and followed Nightshade.

"Sunny, Sides. Far end. Wear him _out_." Ironhide barked at the twins in Cybertronian before wheeling on the approaching Nightshade. "You," he pointed at the small canid mech in irritation as he switched to English. "There," he pointed at the twins on the far side of the field. "Work it out."

Nightshade barely nodded as her hind legs came up to give her a lunge with her next stride and transformed into weapon mode. The next two strides brought her up speed. Two more and she jinked left, rolling her head left so her ear was towards the ground and launched off her left hand to slam into Sideswipe with jaws wide.

It caught him squarely across his lower chest, right where his armor was heaviest and prompted a squawk of surprised protest from both brothers as she bunched her body under her and tossed Sideswipe up instead of shaking him.

Jazz reset his optics and double-checked his visor readings. His first impression had been correct. She'd done next to no damage, just a bit of scratching to his paint and very minor dents. That bite should have drawn energon and left holes and deep dents in his body, especially where the armor was light.

::They aren't sparring,:: Ironhide responded to his body language. ::That's playing, just burning off energy. Watch the blades. It'll mostly be flat hits. She'll sheath her claws, bite only hard enough to move'm, not toss very hard. You've seen what each ov'm can do when they're trying.::

Jazz nodded slightly, his optics locked on the mock combat. He watched frustration, anger and tension bleed out of Nightshade as she twisted, snapped and swatted at the twins, transforming even more readily than they did. It eventually sunk in that as fast and frequently as she transformed, it was between weapon and alt directly and avoided base mode completely.

~What are you watching?~ Prowl nudged him through their bond.

~Nightshade and the Twins 'playing',~ he gave Ironhide's descriptor.

There was a long pause from the other side; just a thrumming along the bond that Jazz had long ago learned was Prowl deep in a tactical analyzation. He turned his attention back to analyzing Nightshade, routing the information he had to date through his cultural adaptation subroutines instead of trying to see him through human culture. Treating the new mech as a new species instead of a human.

~When did you give up on recruiting him?~ Prowl's thought-question snapped Jazz out of his analysis.

~I...~ Jazz began to object.

~You have,~ Prowl corrected him.

Jazz was silent a long time, disturbed and amazed at his bonded's ability to know him so well. He hadn't even made it as a conscious decision yet, though he did recognize it once it had been pointed out.

~When I realized the Terror Twins adopted him,~ he finally decided. ~For reference, I haven't given up. I'm putting it on hold until he's had a taste of being a frontliner. The reality might not appeal as much as the idea.~

Jazz flinched in sympathy when Sunstreaker and Sideswipe coordinated their attack enough to knock Nightshade to her back. Sideswipe had slammed into the back of her lower legs while Sunstreaker slammed into her chest, then both of them were on top of her. Even knowing they were just roughhousing, just 'playing around' as Ironhide put it, it was more violent than most mech's sparring matches.

~I think I understand his resistance now,~ Jazz added thoughtfully, watching as Nightshade got out from under the pair by transforming to her smallest form and twisting away. ~If I'm right...~

~And you usually are,~ Prowl teased him affectionately.

~Then my chances will be much improved when he understands the rules he's living under now.~

~He doesn't?~ Prowl stiffened.

~Oh _your_ rules he understands,~ he couldn't help but laugh. ~I'm talking about what's driving him. The new core programming, what makes him so different from everyone else. Or least what it wants of him.~

~Ah, like what I was going through when you were courting me,~ Prowl chuckled to himself at the memories of five vorn of being sure the Intel specialist was trying to drive him crazy, then twenty of enjoying his company with no clue why the other mech was trying so hard to be friends. Even the vorn and a half where they were going on dates that Prowl acknowledged as such had been bewildering on many levels.

~I never doubted it was worth it,~ Jazz let his feelings flow freely through their bond. ~For far more than because you anchored my spark to the living,~ he added more softly at a thread of thought from the other side. ~I've held you here too, remember.~

~I remember,~ Prowl shuddered. ~At least the odds of facing deactivation before we choose is much less now, with Megatron destroyed.~

~Agreed,~ Jazz murmured, turning away from the loud but playful roughhousing towards the command building where the most important offices were.


	13. Stolen Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz/Prowl mechsmut and Nightshade misinterprets what he hears.

~Love, I really do have work to do,~ Prowl told him firmly, though there was little real resistance the distraction of Jazz's presence.

~You always do,~ Jazz countered with amusement tolerance. Prowl didn't respond, though the affection and warmth through their bond strengthened. Jazz's smile deepened and he made a point of thinking - loudly - about all the things he _might_ do when he reached Prowl's office.

By the time he cycled the door to Prowl's office, the officer was stiff in his chair, his door wings taunt. To almost anyone else, it would seem normal Prowl. Jazz knew his long-time lover far too well to be fooled, even without the bond they shared giving him extra insight into Prowl's emotional, mental and physical state.

"Just keep workin' babe," Jazz whispered into his audio.

It drew a slight shiver from the black and white mech, but that was the only acknowledgement Prowl gave that his lover was even in the room. It was an old game between them, and still a favorite.

Jazz's engine revved softly. He slid his slender fingers lightly along the top edge of Prowl's door-wings, deftly slipping the tips of his claws into small seams to tease sensitive wiring inside.

Though there was no one to see him, Prowl barely stiffened as skilled fingers moved to the seams where hardened glass met living metal on his door wings. He kept his focus on the report he was reading, logging relevant information and running the details through his battle computer to try and keep his mind off the way his entire sensor net was beginning to tingle.

When his logic center once more complained about his behavior - attempting to ignore his bonded when they both intended this to end with a hard, near-frantic 'facing on his desk - he shut it down before it fritzed on him again. It didn't matter how many times they did this, the pure logic of the situation was beyond his capacity. It was the same when it came to trusting Jazz, and their choice to spark-bond.

Prowl shuddered, his own mind his worst enemy now as the touches brought up memory after memory. Each one something that had demanded he turn off his logic center to cope with Jazz. Each time he had willingly abandoned that which made him valuable to everyone else.

"Ya thinkin' too much, babe," Jazz's voice was a low, sensuous caress against his audio receptor and drew nearly as strong a shiver as the kiss to his neck. Jazz's fingers slipped into the connections to his door wings and Prowl jerked to stiff attention with a sharp gasp. "Just feel with me," he continued and expanded his energy field to brush against and began to interweave with Prowl's.

"You're impatient tonight," Prowl managed to sound like himself.

"Mmm, maybe," Jazz pressed his field deep into Prowl's body, drawing another strangled gasp from the black and white when it retreated. "Ya know I'm not one for wait'n."

Prowl suddenly stood, twisting around to face Jazz as he grabbed his bonded. Two steps forward and Jazz's back was slammed against the wall, then he pinned by Prowl's larger, heavier frame while his hands were pinned above his head by one hand. Prowl knew he had such liberties only at Jazz's pleasure. The tactician could never take him if Jazz didn't let him. It was the simple truth of being with an Intel field operative. The Op was always in charge, even when they surrendered control.

"Then what you need," Prowl rumbled, leaning down to close his dental plates around some of the delicate tubing of Jazz's neck hard enough to make his lover cry out. "Isn't tormenting me," he bit down again, closer to Jazz's elegant jaw and flashed his energy field through the smaller mech in a single hard push before withdrawing.

"N-no?" Jazz tried to deny it, to draw the game out a little longer, but his body betrayed his needs as completely as his spark did.

"No," Prowl replied smoothly, shifting his knee forward, his upper leg against Jazz's groin to help support his weight as he was dragged up the wall so their chests were even. "You need me to make you scream."

The words whispered throatily against his audio were enough to make Jazz moan and tip his head back, surrendering fully to the only individual he trusted without reservation; the single spark in all of creation that he trusted to know him better than he knew himself at times.

Prowl moved quickly. There was nothing gentle about his touch as he worked to set Jazz's sensory network on fire. There would be time for tenderness later. For now, Jazz needed to scream; hard, loud and often to release the frustration of the past few days and losing, even temporarily, something he wanted.

Jazz groaned deeply and pressed his frame into that knowing hand and mouth. He somehow managed to contain the trembling that threatened to show itself as his systems heated and pleasure zipped from one sensor node to the next. What was it about this that shattered his self-control so quickly?

"Same as with me," Prowl's husky voice caressed him just over his spark chamber and made his life-energy skip a pulse. "Because it's the only time in your functioning you submit completely to another. You may own me..."

"But everything I am is yours," Jazz gasped out the familiar variant on their bonding words before a sharp keen escaped his vocalizer as he threw his head back in the ecstasy that bordered on painful. He barely felt the charge in his systems mount from pleasurable to overload, or recognized the screaming voice as his own.

* * *

Nightshade was laughing hard, leaning on the Stingray Twins in base mode as they traipsed off the sparring field. He couldn't actually remember the joke, but it felt too good to laugh with others, to spend even a few hours with someone who though he was just fine as he was. It didn't matter that they were the outcasts of the base; feared, or at least distrusted, by their comrades. They thought he was normal ... no one ever thought he was normal. No one.

Useful, strange, pathetic, frightening, fucked-up ... but never, ever, normal.

"Why don't you take a sun nap while we clean up," Sideswipe suggested, motioning to the barracks roof as they approached.

He cast an uncertain glance at the sleek red warrior and nodded before dropping to all fours into his smallest form and jumped to the roof with practiced ease. They probably wanted to play in the way she wasn't into yet. If that was the case, she was happy Sideswipe had suggested she not stick around. It wasn't like their interfacing bothered her, no more than watching the coyotes mate had, but it was ... weird. Knowing it was sexual in some way and comprehending it as such were such very different things. She knew he should respond to the display with desire of some kind. She _was_ an adult after all.

Wasn't she? As a human, she'd just entered middle age. She's had a few boyfriends, serious and otherwise. She'd had a girlfriend, which only lasted long enough for her to be fully convinced that while she was good with being in a lesbian relationship, the sex wasn't that satisfying.

Her _brain_ knew what desire was, missed it even.

So why didn't she react to it anymore?

Sure the movements when they got right down to it weren't at all familiar, but the way they pawed at each other sure was, and the sounds were intimately familiar.

A quiet sound snapped Nightshade's slender canid head up from her paws, causing her entire frame to tense and shift to capture any repeat of it. When it came, she was moving before her CPU even processed it for what it was. Her weapon mode hand hit the dusty earth in as she launched off the roof. Absently she was aware the impact and her form drew attention.

She couldn't care about it. Her entire reality was focused on finding the source of that sound.

::Nightshade. What is your emergency?:: Ratchet's voice demanded in response to the emergency ping on his comm.

She couldn't form words as she tore the door to the command building open with a single swipe of her clawed hand and bolted forward so she did the only thing she could. She repeated the emergency ping.

::Nightshade!:: Ratchet's tone stopped her in her tracks for a spark-pulse. ::State your emergency.::

The sound snapped her head up when it repeated again, loudly.

::Jazz. Danger. Screaming.:: She managed to find words in her instinct-charged awareness and took off again.

::On my way,:: he responded the way she wanted him to. ::Calm _down_ ,:: he attempted to stop her headlong rush through the building. ::He's not in danger.::

Ratchet opened a second comm line as he continued to try and talk Nightshade out of her hunt while he took every shortcut he knew to reach Prowl's office before she did. ::Ironhide, Prime; you might want to head for Prowl's office. Nightshade seems to think Jazz is being killed and they're too distracted to answer me.::

::The Twins?:: Prime asked, the sound of his running audible in the background.

::Equally distracted,:: Ratchet answered.

* * *

Prowl's world had reduced to Jazz's writhing, keening form pinned under him on his desk. One hand had the saboteur's wrists over his head, the other worked to open the complex armor over his spark chamber while he sent the command to reveal himself. Even after millions of solar cycles together and countless spark-merges Jazz's willingness to commit this ultimate act of intimacy, of trust, still amazed him.

A low, needy whimper below him drew Prowl's attention to the pulsing, shining sphere of golden-white energy that was his bonded's life that was revealed for him alone. He off-lined his optics to focus internally and lowered his own exposed white spark to greet it's other half.

Between one pulse and the next, the two halves of a greater whole reached out with fine tendrils of energy and gratefully pulled the other closer, even more eager for the union than the mechs they were the core of.

Later he would realize that Ratchet had commed him repeatedly, that the door to his office had been ripped open, but in the moment the first thing he was aware of was the painful protests of his spark being forcefully separated from it's other half as he was thrown bodily across his office.

Optics shorted, then rebooted, just in time to see Nightshade's weapon mode go from a defensive, snarling, quadrupedal crouch between him and Jazz to lax unconsciousness before dropping to the floor with a resounding thud. Then his bonded was scrambling over her to reach him, absolute panic written in every line of his quicksilver frame.

"I'm all right," Prowl said out loud, and backed it up strongly through their bond. His spark ached from the early separation, his systems were rattled, but that was all. For whatever reason, she hadn't struck him very hard compared to what she was capable of in weapon mode.

"I'm going to guess Jazz did this," Ratchet's grumble as he motioned to Nightshade's still form held that he was both impressed and annoyed with the entire situation as he took in the scene. The bonded couple were pressed together against the far wall, reassuring themselves that the other had come to no harm while the well-meaning Pit-spawn interloper was slumped between them and the desk, as effectively out as if Ratchet had put her in medical stasis himself. He doubted she had even slowed down for the reinforced door that had once been between the office and the corridor.

"Yeah," Jazz nodded, still a little shaky as he stood with Prowl and tried to make his processor fathom what had just occurred.

"He may like those Pit-spawned glitches more right now, but I'd say this proves he's pretty attached to you too," Ratchet considered them, running his scanners over all three. He wasn't sure whether to be shocked or not that there were no real damages done, especially to Prowl. One good hit would have torn half his chassis off if she'd meant to. "Would you mind turning her back on?"

"Yes," Prime's deep rumble came from behind the medic. "He should be allowed to defend his actions before I decide his punishment."

"Punishment?" Ratchet looked over his shoulder at his leader with a disbelieving glare.

"He attacked an Autobot, unprovoked," Prime returned the look.

"Not unprovoked," Ratchet countered as Jazz walked over to Nightshade to wake her with another touch that undid the short-circuiting virus he'd uploaded. "She _thought_ Jazz was being killed."

"Say what?" the saboteur gave him an incredulous look, one that Prowl actually matched in full.

"In this office?" the tactician was very close to outraged.

"Apparently she heard Jazz screaming," Ratchet shrugged. "Assumed he was in danger."

Jazz looked down at the rousing giant with a touch of surprise. "Sha did?"

"That's what she managed to say when she called me," Ratchet confirmed as Nightshade's powerful killing head swung around to work out what the Pit was going on. "Specifically: 'Jazz. Danger. Screaming.' Just that much was pressing her CPU's capabilities."

The room paused at the familiar clicking and whirring of a transformation that left Nightshade in base mode, still looking a bit bewildered and unsettled.

"What were you thinking, busting in here?" Jazz asked gently before Prime could begin a rougher interrogation.

"You. Gitmo," he mumbled as embarrassment laced with fear took over his emotional center.

"Gitmo?" Prime prompted for an explanation before he began to shoo away other Autobots who'd been drawn by the noise and action.

Before Nightshade could say anything, Prowl grabbed his jaw, hauled the mech to his feet, pulled his head down level with his own and locked optics with him. Fury was radiating off the normally calm tactician at a level that even Jazz looked surprised at for a brief moment.

" _Never_ insult the Autobots like that again," Prowl practically hissed, his hand doing light damage to Nightshade's face as his frame trembled in outrage. "We are _nothing_ like that, not even in war."

Much to everyone's surprise, Nightshade didn't resist or challenge the statement, but he didn't flinch either.

"Whoa," Jazz was suddenly trying to stand between the larger mechs, one hand over Prowl's spark chamber as he tried to calm his normally unshakable bonded. "He was just defendin' me, love. He hasn't been here long enough ta understand, and ya _know_ ah'm not the best teacher that way. Ah'm all the shades 'o grey between your black'n white."

Prowl's fury latched on to Jazz for a fraction of a nanoklik before it dissipated in much the same manner Prowl could make Jazz's most hyper mood settle.

"Autobots do not behave in a manner like the humans at Guantnamo Bay are accused of," Prime rumbled, his voice expressing much less disgust that he actually felt after processing the internet downloads available.

"Okay, ah think we established he thought wrong," Jazz looked up at Nightshade and recognized the expression all too well from both prisoners and Autobots in deep slag with Prowl. It was a simple acceptance of fate; the battle was lost, all he intended now was to not make the punishment worse if he could figure out how.

Jazz kept his touch light when he placed his hand on Prowl's arm, silently asking him to release their newest resident. It was a relief when he complied and stepped back. "Ah wanna know why ya reacted like that," he focused on Nightshade.

"I heard you screaming," Nightshade looked at him, optics pleading for him to understand what he barely did himself. "I _still_ don't understand why you were, if you weren't in pain."

"Pleasure," Jazz told him. "Prowl is very good at it." He cocked his head at the absolute lack of comprehension in Nightshade's optics. "Where were you?"

"Barracks roof," he answered. "You have a distinctive voice," he added, shifting uneasily at the shock his statement created.

"You heard him half way across the base, though soundproofing and the command building, during the middle of the day?" Prowl asked, barely able to believe it.

"Yes," Nightshade murmured and only just kept from transforming to his alt mode as he tried to convey his submission. "I didn't see you," he tried to explain again. "Just a form holding Jazz down and his screams."

"Enough," Prime's even voice interrupted the strange scene and brought all optics to him. "Nightshade. Are you aware of why you are in trouble?"

"Because I assaulted an Autobot?" he asked more than stated, his optics locked somewhere just over Prime's shoulder.

"Yes," Prime nodded, relieved that Nightshade at least grasped that. He paused, reading the room, and especially Prowl. Punishment was typically his duty after all. A tact nod indicated the tactician willingly turned over the ruling to him. He met Nightshade's optics and watched as he almost instantly dropped them. "Your intentions were honorable and you alerted Ratchet when you believed someone was injured. For that I will be lenient. However, you did assault an Autobot without cause."

"Prime?" Jazz spoke up, asking permission to speak. He continued after he was nodded to. "He dinna actually injure either of us, or anyone else. Just a couple doors and rattled nerves."

"It is, however, the third assault in as many weeks," Prime pointed out sternly.

"All justified Prime," Jazz countered, wondering why Nightshade cringed a little at his efforts to spare him brig time or hard labor. "He's learning restraint well. He could have easily torn Prowl apart, but he didn't even cause damage."

"Why is that?" Prime looked at the subject of the debate.

"I..." his optics suddenly shifted to meet Prime's, however briefly. "I think I knew something wasn't right."

"If ya heard this, you've heard me scream before," Jazz tried to feel out what was triggering the reaction. "More'n once."

Nightshade dug through memories, more out of reflexive compliance than any understanding of where the questions were going. "I knew what lead up to it before. The ... tenor was different. You sounded different. You sounded ... in pain today."

Prowl actually let out a small, resigned sound and looked up at Prime in all his self-controlled, logic-ruled perfection. "He has a valid point. As does Jazz. The assault charge is an exaggeration at best. I was pushed with only enough force to separate us by the distance required to assess the situation further. Jazz dropped him before he had the opportunity to do anything else.

"The breach of security protocols in entering my office uninvited is overridden when one honestly believes a life is in danger. I agree that Nightshade honestly believed he was trying to rescue Jazz, and acted with the minimum force required. His effort to contact Ratchet and apprise him of the situation before arriving demonstrates both his intentions and state of CPU.

"Destruction of property is a valid charge, though it is mitigated by the belief a life was in danger," Prowl summarized the events.

"In short, you would drop the charges," Prime regarded his tactician evenly.

"Yes Sir," Prowl inclined his head. "According to the testimony presented here, Nightshade acted in good faith to protect the life of an Autobot and did so without causing harm to another."

"Ya did good, kiddo," Jazz whispered to Nightshade and flashed him a smile. "Bad call, but ya did good."

"Very well," Prime nodded his acceptance. "Nightshade. You will assist the repair crew fix the damage you caused. I do not want a repeat of today."

"Yes, Sir," Nightshade met his optics for the briefest nanoklik before dropping his gaze again. "I understand."

"Good," Prime turned and left, clearing the corridor of the last of the spectators.

"How can you distinguish his voice that far away?" Ratchet pinned Nightshade with a glare. "If your sensors were tuned sensitive enough to hear, it would still be drowned out."

For the first time since this began, Nightshade actually looked pleased. He knew this answer. "Any identified noise is filtered out so it doesn't require attention. Once I got used to base sounds like vehicles, sparring, various voices and equipment, I rarely register them for longer than it takes to ID where they are coming from when they appear again. If there is no unidentified sound, the sensitivity is upped and the process begins again. Most afternoons I'm listening to coyote and wolf news from southern Mexico to central Canada, human and Autobot news broadcasts, and the rumbles of The Others."

"The Others?" Jazz prompted.

"Bloody Mary, The Fire Noble in the south, Sea-Sky West, Eastern Grace, East-Sea Victory, Outback, The Lioness, First Warrior and North Defender," he rattled them off. "Those like me. It's less of a language than the coyotes, but it gets the point across."

"Nightshade," Prowl's even voice demanded his attention. "We know Bloody Mary, and I estimate that The Lioness is who she calls Kesia of Africa. Who are the others, and what is their territory?"

"Umm, Fire Noble has South America. Sea-Sky West has the Pacific. Eastern Grace has Asia. East-Sea Victory has the Atlantic. First Warrior ... umm, the waters south of India and between the Atlantic and Pacific. Outback has Australia. North Defender has the inland territory between Eastern Grace and Bloody Mary.

Prowl nodded, adding the rough territories and names to his geo-political map of Earth.

"Have you met any of them?" he asked.

"Just Bloody Mary," he shook his head. "Those probably aren't their names. I was calling Bloody Mary 'The Shadowed' until she contacted us. Her news beat still comes in as that."

"Do ya know what they call ya?" Jazz asked, utterly fascinated by the entire concept. All the feeds he and the base monitored, and no one had a clue that news was being passed between the were-mechs.

He thought about it. "Not exactly, but I think it's something like 'Death Watch.' I'm not entirely sure why Nightshade translates to it, but it does," he shrugged, then spotted Grapple's bright yellow form outside.

"Do I even want to know?" the architect and resident construction master sighed when he spotted Nightshade inside. "I suppose you're responsible for the other door and the floor too?"

"Yeah," he grimaced. "I'm supposed to help fix'm."

Grapple eyed him warily. "Do you know how to do repairs?"

He just shook his head and gave the architect an apologetic shrug. "I broke it, I help fix it."

~This should be interesting,~ Prowl commented silently to Jazz as they watched Grapple reluctantly begin to give Nightshade directions.


	14. Method to their Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Bloody Mary leaves, the Terror Twins come to a critical decision of their own regarding Nightshade. It just goes a little further than anyone expected.

Sideswipe was online shortly before dawn, as was his brother, but neither moved. The brownish-black mech between them was still in recharge, though he was gradually coming on-line from it.

~This is getting _really_ old,~ Sunstreaker grumbled privately though their bond.

~I know,~ Sideswipe pressed calmness with his reply. ~It'll be worth it. When was the last time we met a pre-programmed warrior as strong and fast as we are?~

~Starfall,~ he responded without thinking. ~Vagrant, Buckshot. So?~

Sideswipe reached over Nightshade to rap the side of Sunstreaker's head. ~You're willing to let one of _us_ be tormented by the soldiers? Twisted into a parody of their core programming because those old-timers are afraid we'll turn Con with no Cons to fight? 'Shade doesn't have the self-confidence to stand up to them yet, and they stuck _Jazz_ on'm, of all mechs. _Jazz_!~

~Yeah, I know,~ Sunstreaker muttered. ~I _know_ what he does to mechs,~ he looked at Nightshade, who was beginning to stir, and slid his claws along the brownish-black arm, mapping out every plate, connection and wire. ~Do you think he already did something?~ he looked up at his brother. ~To try and keep us away from him? It's not natural.~

~Ratchet isn't worried,~ was the only reply Sideswipe could come up with. ~He hasn't been here long. Not everybody matures as fast as we did. Some take Vorns.~

~True,~ Sunstreaker admitted reluctantly, his claws still playing along Nightshade's armor plates. ~We were brought on line fully functional.~

Sideswipe smiled and slid a hand along the plates of Nightshade's back, mapping them as his brother did Nightshade's arm and side.

~Does this mean we're going to try and raise him?~ Sunstreaker asked as they felt Nightshade bring the last of his systems up to full operational status.

~Unless we want Jazz to,~ he nodded, then tapped his claws along Nightshade's shoulder. "Wakee, wakee, 'Shade," he teased their berthmate playfully. "Feeling better?"

"Much," he held back none of his gratitude. "Having her _gone_..." a shudder ran down his entire frame. "Prime better not invite her back."

Both twins shifted to press their frames against his, offering the comfort of physical protection and felt the tension relax from Nightshade's frame. Sideswipe carefully extended his energy field, focusing on keeping his libido in check when Nightshade's reached out in return. It was an unfamiliar feeling, to have his field entwine with another without pleasure being involved. Yet he knew how to do it, learned over too many times when his brother was locked in medical stasis as critical injuries were repaired.

Even more slowly, Sunstreaker did the same, expanding his field in friendship without desire. The way he comforted Sideswipe when his brother was the badly injured one and it was the only comfort he could offer.

Even as Nightshade's energy field wove firmly with theirs, a soft vibration caressed both twins from the mech between them; a rumble that hit their sparks solidly on their harmonic frequency and drew mirroring gasps of surprise from the pair.

Sunstreaker returned the rumble, his engine responding without thought as desire leaked into his energy field. His hands became bolder, dipping between plates to tease cables and wires.

~Bro...~ Sideswipe tried to warn him, even as his own will faltered at the rumble and responsiveness of Nightshade's energy field entangling his own and encouraging him on.

~He's quite capable'r say'n no,~ Sunstreaker got across more in feeling than words as a moan escaped his vocalizer. Surrendering to desires he rarely kept in check the sunshine yellow warrior growled, his energy field flaring strongly at the returned rumble and the matching surge from his brother.

Suddenly his roaming hand was captured by Sideswipe's and held still against Nightshade's flank.

~Field only,~ Sideswipe all but panted in need. ~Don't wanna scare'm again.~

Sunstreaker growled in reply but didn't contest the rule. Instead he focused his efforts on entwining their energy fields, searching for the sweet spots and resonance frequencies.

Between the brothers, Nightshade arched his back forward, pressing his frame against Sunstreaker's with a ragged, startled whine. His sharp, slender fingers dug reflexively into the back of the body pressed against his chest as he shook.

~I think he likes that,~ Sideswipe smirked and copied what his brother had done, relishing the sweet sounds that escaped Nightshade and the fierce strength their new lover's field replied to their efforts with.

With Nightshade's face buried against Sunstreaker's shoulder plates his sounds were muffled, but the way the rest of his body trembled between them, the erratic flaring of his energy field and high-pitched whine of his cooling fans struggling to control his temperature told the twins all they needed to know about their efforts.

"Let go," Sunstreaker crooned encouraged with a sultry, pleasure-laden voice. "Trust us."

He pressed a little closer against Sunstreaker and Sideswipe pressed tighter against his back as his body stiffened. Cables responded as muscles once did, trying to draw his body even tighter against the other mech as he whimpered and whined, processors struggling to correlate what was happening to _anything_ he understood. All he could manage was that it felt _good_.

Without warning Sunstreaker pulled his hand free of Sideswipe's grasp and worked it between his body and Nightshade's. He curled his fingers between Nightshade's legs and pressed up lightly in a trick that worked on many former humans.

Sharp, clawed fingers dug into his back without warning and almost keening cry, half in ecstasy, half frightened, escaped the vocalizer near his audio receptor.

~Not good,~ Sideswipe stilled, as did Sunstreaker, despite the hard pulses of their berthmate's overload crashing over them through their entwined fields. They both held still, taking extra care as they pulled their fields back and gave Nightshade time to recover. The way his frame heaved between them, expending to suck in air and contracting to blow it out wasn't exactly normal, but it wasn't the first time they'd caused it either.

When he finally settled, Sideswipe slid his fingers down Nightshade's arm, testing the other mech's reaction. "You okay?"

"U-hum," Nightshade mumbled languidly, his frame still trembling slightly as he continued to cool and settle down. "What was that, 'sides good?"

"The least intimate form of interfacing," Sunstreaker said, hoping the jerk to the other's frame at the last word wasn't a bad sign.

"Urr?" Nightshade's face contorted into a bewildered, somewhat concerned expression as he shifted to raise his head slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. He watched the yellow warrior as he tried to make fuzzy processors work on translating what he'd just been told.

"Entwining our energy fields," Sideswipe explained more fully. "It's the least intimate form of interfacing, of pleasure, for us."

Nightshade dropped his head with a groan. "Ratchet's going to be _pissed_."

"The Hatchet's always pissed," Sunstreaker shrugged. "Don't worry about him."

"About what?" Sideswipe asked, more concerned that Ratchet's reaction would be Nightshade's first concern.

Nightshade gathered the rest of his scattered wits and brought his processors to a semi-balance of normal. "He ... I needed to see him before I went this far with anybody," he struggled to explain. "Things I needed to know first."

"When did he tell you to get this information?" Sideswipe asked, playing his claws along Nightshade's side and hip in a gentle, soothing pattern that worked well on his brother.

The brownish-black bot was still, dredging through hazy memories to answer the question. That he was to ask first had stuck. That it was to be when he felt desire stuck. That was all his mind had deemed important about the instruction; what to do and when.

"It doesn't matter," Sunstreaker suddenly insisted, breaking Nightshade's plunge through uncooperative memory banks. "Just don't tell him when you ask for the info."

"Yeah, it's not like the fields leave any real trace for him to find without a seriously in-depth physical," Sideswipe grinned and patted his shoulder. "He'll probably just be happy you're asking."

"Here's hoping," Nightshade gave the pair a grin that was more mischievous than worried.

"That's the spirit!" Sideswipe grinned and rolled backwards to stand up. "Now let's hit the rack and grab some energon," he extended a hand to Nightshade.


	15. Prime Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the comparison, no matter how unconscious in origin, of the Autobots to Gitmo, Prime decides to be a little more hands-on with their new recruit.

Optimus Prime kept half an optic on his monitor as he read through reports on datapad. Once he had calmed down from what Nightshade had said in Prowl's office, it had begun to ping at his processors. A minor nagging that had taken him almost two full orns to work out why it was bothering him. That determined, he had the base monitoring system put a display on his monitor of Nightshade's location.

He would wait to raise his questions until Nightshade was in his comfort zone; the foothills surrounding the desert base. It simply would not do to alienate him even more by asking questions with others nearby.

True to pattern, he didn't have long to wait once the sun began to set for Nightshade to take off. With a quick comm message to Red Alert about his destination, Prime left the base and headed almost directly north to meet Nightshade at the midpoint of his patrol.

It was near moonset when his audio receptors finally picked up the steady, stealthy padding of Nightshade's alt mode's feet on hard baked earth. He stood his full height, making himself obvious against the sky. He had no doubt she knew he was there well before, but he was determined to give every assurance he could that his unusual presence did not signal trouble.

"Prime," the canid's head dipped in acknowledgement even though she didn't break her smooth gate.

"Come sit with me a time," he spoke soothingly, motioning to the outcropping he'd been sitting on to await her arrival.

Nightshade nearly skidded to a stop and half dropped to the ground in the now-familiar posture of submission laced with fear. She didn't go all the way down though, and her slender, elegant muzzle was pointed directly at him. Golden optics, not hidden by the visor, locked on blue.

"There is no need to fear me, Nightshade," he said softly as the other transformed to base mode and sat down next to him.

"The same way there is no need to fear me," he replied, his gaze down and internals clicking and whirring in his unease as he shifted in place. "Most Autobots still do. Same reason, I expect."

"What is that reason?" Prime watched every nuance of movement and expression. Even being a random mix of human, canine and Cybertronian, he could understand enough for it to be useful.

"Instinct," he shrugged. "The Twins let it slip a few days ago that my weapon mode gives off the same signals as Megatron. It freaks most folks out, bad."

Prime sighed, resigned to the truth of that. "She is quite intimidating, and not just for her size. I am more concerned about your apparent views about us. That the first thing that came to mind when you heard a scream on base was Gitmo is very disturbing to me."

"It's not like that," he shook his head sharply. "It was _Jazz_ screaming, in the most secure building we have."

"You regard him so highly, already?" Prime raised an optic ridge.

Nightshade glanced up briefly and gave a small smile. "I have been watching for months," he shrugged and leaned back on his hands. "I guess it comes down to what I think of when I hear 'Head of Intelligence' and what it takes to make one scream in pain. It's a very ... short list."

"That it is," Prime acknowledged, trying to keep the grimness of the truth from his voice. "You are correct, there is very little that can cause Jazz to express pain that way. None of them things an Autobot would do."

The look Nightshade gave him was bordering on pity, and a serious internal debate about what to say next.

"Speak your thoughts," Prime encouraged. "I will not be angry this time."

Nightshade looked at him, judging how much he wanted to trust the statement. After a moment, he sighed from his vents and shrugged before looking up at the moonless night sky. "You may not be. You aren't the one who's willing and able to kill for crossing the line."

"Autobots are not evil," he countered, his voice a little sharp. "What you are talking about is unacceptable behavior."

Nightshade shifted, looking over at him with soft, openly pitying optics. "This coming from the commander of a billions year long war? Please, I've got a reasonable idea of how few rules the Decepticons play by. I've a pretty solid idea what it takes to win those odds, and it's not playing fair, much less honorable. At best it's looking honorable while you fight dirty as hell."

"That is..."

"Then explain Jazz and Whiplash," Nightshade cocked his head to the side. "Or even the Twins," he paused, giving the Autobot leader an opportunity to say something, only to continue when he was stared at expectantly. "Prime, I'll never be one of those honor-above-all soldiers," he sighed. "At best, I'll be that Pit-spawn you keep pointed at a problem, expect collateral damage, don't ask for details afterwards."

"And at worst, what do you see in yourself?" He asked calmly.

Nightshade met his gaze for a moment, then looked back at the stars before answering. "A world killer," his voice was soft, almost relaxed. "I'll never be a danger like Megatron, I don't have the taste leadership or conquest," he glanced over at Prime briefly before looking up again. "I suppose that could make it worse, in some ways. He had an army, but he had a goal that didn't involve 'kill everything that moves' too."

"You honestly believe that of yourself?" Prime asked softly, watching with no small amount of confusion at how calmly Nightshade could talk about this. Surely Nightshade knew if it was true, the Prime was the last being in the universe he should admit such things to.

"Between Genghis Khan, Nazis, Pol Pot, Gitmo, serial killers and ethnic cleansing, how can you doubt that humans are capable of at least as much evil as any Decepticon?" he cocked his head slightly. "We're a species that's all but specialized in discovering how many ways one can kill another living thing, especially our own kind. I'd say it's fair to argue that we're pretty good at it too."

"And you feel you have this evil in you?" he looked at the youth hard. This was not what he had expected to hear, not any of it.

"I can kill and feel no remorse," he said simply. "Last I checked, that's a key definition of a psychopath."

"Perhaps," Prime granted. "It is also something that happens to many warriors."

"Except I've never been to war," he chuckled hollowly. "I was ready to, kinda wanted to, but my timing was off." Nightshade looked around the valley, and settled with his face up to the stars. "I have better days, you know. I'm not always this cynical."

Prime nodded, still processing all he'd been told and working out how much was true and how much was from ignorance. He forcefully reminded himself that Nightshade wasn't even a half-vorn old, time as a human included. By any standards he could use, he was _young_ and probably programmed for war like Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Ironhide. As disturbing as the words were and that one so young could even conceive of such things much less rattle off a list of atrocities of their homeworld, they were very much at odds with what he had witnessed in the last month.

"As I have seen," Prime said. "Yet for all that, the behavior you have displayed is that of a guardian. An aggressive, violent one, I grant, but not a psychopath, and certainly not a Decepticon. You have shown me no reason to believe you are more prone to being a threat than Sunstreaker."

The look he got sent his processors scrambling. _What_ had the Terror Twins told Nightshade? Did _they_ believe they were so ill-tolerated? Certainly they were violent and susceptible to battle-lust, but they were _warriors_. They'd been carefully designed and programmed to step from the assembly line right into battle with every instinct in place. In time, they'd become like Ironhide. No less violent or aggressive, but with a firm understanding that they could live well off the battlefield and there would always be a battle to fight when they needed one.

"What have they been telling you?" he narrowed his optics at the youngling, trying to work out how much of the flinch was instinct and how much had been learned.

"Umm, telling, not much," Nightshade hesitated, leaning away from the glare. Why did he always do this? Every time something good came along, he'd destroy it with the wrong words because he'd relaxed. He couldn't let them be hurt because he couldn't keep his mouth shut when asked questions. "I'm just not blind."

"Explain," Prime ordered, only just keeping his tone fully in check.

Nightshade gave him a brief, nervous glance before looking away, over the wide desert valley. "I know, I've been told, that the reaction to my weapon mode is suppressed fear," he paused, giving Prime a chance to object. He continued when nothing came. "I can see, even feel it sometimes, that same reaction to Sunny, and to Sides to a lesser extent."

"But not to Ironhide, Ratchet or Jazz," Prime asked, already seeing the pattern.

"Ratchet, sometimes," he admitted with a shrug. "Ironhide's too loyal. Even I can tell he won't actually snap. Jazz ... see my earlier comment about special ops. They're scary people, even if they're nice."

"You actually believe Jazz would harm an Autobot, or any of our allies?" Prime scrutinized him carefully.

"I believe if he's doing his job, he has. Probably more often than you can count and in ways neither of us can imagine," Nightshade answered quietly.

"He is an Autobot," Prime said firmly. Nightshade nodded in submission without any hint of belief and Prime sighed. "I read the full report on your human life. Nothing in it would indicate this kind of deep-set knowledge."

Nightshade cocked his head, the sadness and pain on his face was unmistakable, but so was an impersonal, undirected hatred. "Shame's a good teacher," he answered quietly. "Bush, Vietnam, Gitmo, Bosnia, Cambodia, drug cartels, Matthew Shepard, Sep..." his voice closed off before he could continue the litany.

Prime controlled his smile out of respect for the events being listed and the obvious pain they represented. _This_ made sense to him. Nothing could drive guardian core programming over the edge faster than being utterly helpless to protect what they felt they should because of a betrayal. Add warrior code to the mix and all the conflicting signals fell rather neatly into place. It was a mess to fix, but they were some of the easier psychological scars in his army. All things considered, they could probably have Nightshade's processors untangled with simple training and understanding within a vorn, two at most. He felt himself relax even as Nightshade struggled to find his voice again.

"There is nothing good in that near-extinct species," Nightshade finally managed to grate out. His entire frame was trembling, clicking and crackling with memories and reactions he couldn't begin to name and really didn't care to try. It hurt too much to even think of going there.

"Nightshade," Prime's voice was soft as he reached out to tip the youth's face up to meet his optics with a gentle hand and found the visor between them. "Your leaders betrayed you. Your charge turned you away," he felt the tension shift in Nightshade's frame from internal struggle to physical preparation. "Don't run," he said firmly, though he made no physical move to prevent it. The tension didn't dissipate, but it did shift to a more stationary quiver. "You've spent your entire life trying to understand why you didn't belong. Perhaps because this is your destiny; that I cannot know. What I do know is what you have just described is well known on Cybertron," he paused, letting the statement sink in.

It was two-thirds guesswork and empty theory, but so was any motivational speech, personal or to the army. The truth was good, but belief was far better. As long as Nightshade believed him, believed _in_ him, it would work.

He just needed the youth to believe enough to accept that Autobots were not like humans until they had proven it to him.

For Prime, it was easy to read him, even with the visor between their optics. Nightshade had only one deceptive trait in his entire programming core, and that was at the center of two desperately strong and conflicting desires that left the youth frozen.

To trust and open himself up to more of the kind of pain that was radiating through his entire being right now, or to protect himself and suffer what he had most of his life already.

Prime waited patiently, allowing Nightshade to processes the many possibilities and repercussions in his own time.

"What is it called?" Nightshade eventually asked.

It took Prime a moment to track what was being asked, and he smiled at the small victory. He responded first in Cybertronian, simply so Nightshade could hear it as intended. "I believe the best translation is Lost Guardian, though it seems to lose much in those words," he spoke with calm ease and shifted his hand to Nightshade's shoulder. "I have spent the bulk of my life, a very, very long life, judging whether to trust a mech or not with the Autobot insignia. To trust them with my life and the lives I hold dear," he paused again to allow the full weight of the statement to sink in. "For all your violent tendencies, despite what you view as an evil core, I see a spark worthy of my trust."

Prime paused, watching as Nightshade debated with himself whether to say something. Eventually he settled for silence and Prime continued.

"I see a very young warrior-guardian who's never had their nature explained to them, or been given what they need to have a stable CPU. You have a good spark, Nightshade," he lifted his hand and gently cupped Nightshade's chin, bringing their optics in line again. He could feel faint tremors under sensitive fingers, but it was difficult to tell their emotional cause. "I can see that, even if you are not sure."

"Then why do they fear me?" Nightshade voice almost broke as he searched Prime's face for some clue as to what to believe.

Prime smiled at him, a gentle expression meant to cushion the words he was about to say. "Because you are a warrior sparked. I believe you have noticed that the other warriors are not afraid of you," he smiled a little more when Nightshade nodded. "That is because you are one of them. It is the reason you are drawn to the Twins and Ironhide. It is natural, especially as young as you are, to try and associate with those of a similar spark."

Though he couldn't see the optics behind the matte-finish black visor, Prime was sure he'd made him point with the way Nightshade's frame relaxed by increments.

"How old before I'm not a kid anymore?" Nightshade asked quietly as they separated and turned their gaze back to the stars.

Optimus chuckled deeply. "According to Ironhide, _I'm_ still a youngling. There is no set age, not for those who come on line in their adult frames. By thirteen vorn few will think of you as anything but a fully trained adult."

"Thirteen vorn ... over a thousand years," Nightshade murmured, trying to wrap his processors around it. "This'll be interesting."

"It is a long time to a human," Prime acknowledged. "It is not long to our kind."

"Nearly immortal," Nightshade murmured. "It's going to take some getting used to."

"You have all the time you need," he glanced over and was pleased at how relaxed Nightshade seemed to be. It had been a night of surprises, but overall, he felt satisfied with his new understanding and sure that Nightshade felt more secure in his place among the Autobots. That made for a productive few joor.


	16. Battle Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightshade goes on his first Decepticon hunt, and the Autobots get an optic full of why he gets along with the Terror Twins so well.

"Primus, he's worse than Hide," Ratchet muttered in Cybertronian and scowled at Nightshade's alt mode's near-frantic pacing around the unmarked and heavily modified NEST C-17. She was whining and growling, even snapping at the soldiers loading equipment for the strike mission. Their target was a group of Decepticons raiding the Diavik Diamond mine in the far north of Canada. While everyone was eager to go, the Cons had been in the area for at least two weeks, so there was little danger of them being gone before dark.

"Will you _please_ calm your dog down before I shoot'm? We've moving as fast as we can." Major Lennox's glare swung from Ironhide to Nightshade and earned the unit commander a snapping series of clicks and sort-of barks that even the humans took as being cussed out. Despite the tension, several soldiers laughed at the robotic canid's reaction.

"I am sure," Prime said evenly and walked over to Nightshade, who almost instantly tucked her tail tightly along her belly and dropped to the ground, her triangular ears flat to the side and slightly drooping as she rolled half way to show her belly to him. "Nightshade is merely anxious. It is his first battle with us," he continued, using the male pronoun to avoid confusion among the humans.

Abruptly Sideswipe tackled the submissive canid, curling around her as her startled yelp echoed around the airfield. As his momentum bled out he kicked away from her. In the same spark beat Sunstreaker gave a joyful war cry and lunged for her, only to meet a head-on collision with the weapon mode's chest.

Sideswipe laughed brightly at his brother's shock as the sunshine yellow warrior was tossed high in the air and caught in Nightshade's jaws for a relatively gentle landing before her alt mod darted away to make a run at the red brother.

Major Lennox watched them with bemusement, and shook his head. "Why can't I get the image of a bunch of kids about to go to Disneyland out of my head?"

"Because they're acting like it," Master Sergeant Epps chuckled. "Better this than the glaring and pacing."

"They're taking care of their little sister," Ironhide's tone was surprisingly fond as the loading finished. "They're unrepentant Pit-spawn, the lot've them, but they take care of their own."

"Autobots!" Prime's voice boomed over all other sounds and brought immediate attention to him. It even stilled the three-way wrestling match happening on the tarmac. "Ironhide, Ratchet, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Jazz, Hound, Trailbraker. Transform and load up. Tread Bolt, Nightshade, you're to guard the transport."

The two with flight capabilities called out their acknowledgment as those called to battle transformed and rolled into the C-17 and the rest of the crowd moved off the field. There was organized chaos for a few brief minutes as the combined Autobot and human military unit settled in for the ride.

Once the back hatch was closed, the turbulence of liftoff and acceleration settled out, Major Lennox stood and walked up to Prime's driver side. He was half surprised when the semi's door opened for him, but took the invitation without question.

"You are troubled by Nightshade's presence on the mission," Prime told him without preamble.

"Yes," he admitted, too startled to say anything else.

"Do not be. He is a trustworthy warrior."

"He makes Sunstreaker look disciplined and he's made no secret that he's not fond of humans," Lennox pointed out. "It's good reason to be concerned."

"Do you trust me?" Prime asked calmly.

"Hu? Yes," he nodded quickly.

"Then trust me to not bring a warrior who would endanger those I have sworn to protect," he spoke calmly. "I would not permit him to join us if I believed he would not hold to the Autobot code."

Lennox nodded, somewhat reluctantly, to the absolute truth of the statement. The strange canine-based transformer might make him uneasy, but Prime ... he had to trust the Autobot leader to know his troops as well as Lennox knew his own. It was their job, after all.

* * *

"Autobots, Attack!" Optimus Prime ordered with a bellow, causing a surge of movement out of the forest where they had been creeping up on the Decepticons outside the diamond mine.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe rushed forward ahead of everyone else, preceded only by Ironhide's first cannon volley. Four Decepticons returned fire when a roaring boom from overhead froze everyone, Autobot and Decepticon alike. Autobots had flashbacks to encounters with Thundercracker or Dirge, but the craft roaring from the sky was an unmarked black-brown F-15 doing a fine impression of a suicide dive on the battlefield.

"What the hell is he doing?" Lennox bellowed to any Autobot that might hear him.

"You'll see," Jazz flashed him a reassuring grin before targeting one of the distracted Cons.

Lennox and his team stared in mute shock when the jet transformed at the last second with a flicker of light over its frame into the monster that was Nightshade in battle and crashed into the largest Decepticon squarely in the chest. The area shook when the force of the impact transferred into the ground as she followed him all the way down. Before the tremors died down, her head went down and pulled out a part the size of Ratchet's fist.

With a flick of her jaws, she tossed the part in the air and snapped down on it near the jaw hinge between huge crushing teeth. Light exploded and white-blue lightning crackled along her massive frame for a long, battle-chilling moment.

Then the world turned to reassuring chaos again as the remaining Decepticons assessed the losing odds and scattered.

With a roar Nightshade bolted into the thick trees after the smallest one, a scout class in dark blue and black with dark red trim. Trees bent and cracked at her passing, limbs snapped and caught in armor plates, only to be cut and fall in the next stride.

All she saw was her prey. It ran. It dodged. It ducked. It escaped her jaws time and again.

It fired at her. It barely stung. It fought back with claws and blades when she finally closed her jaws around it.

It screamed when she tossed it in the air. Cursed and pleaded and hit her mussel when she caught it again. Two tosses latter and it stopped moving on its own.

She dropped it to the ground. Nosed it. Sniffed it.

Then listened very carefully as her higher processor functions logged on line one by one.

It wasn't dead. She could hear some of its internals. Her language center came up and she finally recognized what was scrolling across her vision as a mixture of English, Cybertronian and whatever her CPU ran in these days.

_Designation: Runabout_  
_Faction: Decepticon_  
_Status: Temporary Stasis_

_Time to activation: 4 kliks_

The visor added in response to the half-thought wondering how long her plaything ... prisoner ... would be unconscious.

Yes, he was a prisoner now, since she was back to thinking like a person and he wasn't dead.

With a huff, she considered him and what to do. It was barely a conscious thought of how to best immobilize him when her visor scrolled the information, complete with diagrams, in front of her optics.

Nightshade chuckled deep in her chest as a plan crystallized in her processors. While her victim was still unconscious, she carefully followed the visor's directions on how to crush the primary arm and leg joints so he was immobile, unable to transform, but otherwise basically undamaged.

* * *

"Nightflight," Jazz named the white corpse Prime had brought down and dragged back to the clearing where they had begun. "Motorhead," he named the bright yellow one the twins had caught. "And Bombshock," he motioned to the badly shattered dark green one that Nightshade had taken down.

"We're all here and walking, 'cept the wolf," Ratchet added.

::Nightshade. Report.:: Prime called out on an open frequency sequence he knew the youth had been taught to listen too.

::Comin',:: the deep, vaguely feminine growl of the weapon mode responded only moments before trees and the rumble of the ground informed everyone of her approach at a solid clip.

The first thing that everyone realized was that she had a mech in her jaws. Jazz realized she was aiming right for him, and her gate was more excited prance than the lope or run he was accustomed to.

Nightshade skidded to a stop half a length in front of Jazz and dropped her burden at his feet with a slight jerk of her head so the mech landed face up. "Present?"

A face that was of a very much alive and very, very frightened mech.

"Ah gift, for me?" Jazz's grin widened and he stepped around to rub behind her ear until she quivered and whined in delight. "That's sweet of'ya."

"Good," she rumbled, a low whine escaping when Jazz stopped but little more as her attention turned to the three bodies on the offering instead of scrap metal.

"Designation Runnabout," the prisoner said as soon as he worked out that he'd stopped moving and locked his optics on the small silver mech standing over him. "I'll answer anything you ask," he promised fervently. "Just keep that monster away from me."

Jazz looked down at the prisoner and cocked his head. "Just what did ya tell this one?" he looked over at Nightshade as she began to crunch away on her kill.

She paused and looked over her shoulder at him, processed energon dripping from her jaws. "That he had a choice. Keep you happy with intel, or be the one I find out how sadistic I really am with."

Prime crossed his arms and glared at her, demanding an explanation.

She actually looked annoyed when she met his gaze. "I need to find out if all these ways to cause damage that pop in my head anytime I look at something is some kind of combat program or if I _enjoy_ inflicting pain and damage. I'd like to know before it gets much more creative."

For once, he was surprised at the simple, if brutal, logic of her plan and relaxed his stance. It was completely impersonal, no emotion behind it, no unreasonable desire. Just a question to be answered. A question he had to admit he very much wanted answered, likely even more than she did.

Prime cast a look at Ratchet, who was inspecting their prisoner to see what kind of damage she'd done before accepting his surrender.

"Yes, yes, I can at least find out if it's a battle computer," the medic waved the question off. "Nightshade, how did you know how to do this?" he motioned to the precision immobilization damage to Runnabout.

She finished crunching on her current mouthful of dead Decepticon before answering. "I thought I should prevent him from attacking or running after he woke up..."

"Woke up?" Ratchet scowled at her.

"He passed out when I was capturing him," she shrugged.

"She was tossing me in the air like a toy!" Runnabout countered in Cybertronian.

"When I thought about immobilizing him, a diagram and detailed instructions on where to poke holes in him came up on the visor," she finished as if he hadn't spoken.

"There's a reason I love these things," Jazz grinned unabashedly. "What ah don't know, it will."

"If Ratchet determines it is not a battle computer providing you with these ideas, I would like you to allow Jazz to see what he can find," he paused when she went from relaxed to nearly petrified in a spark-beat.

"Hay, ah'd never hurt'ya," Jazz spoke as gently as he could as he walked over to her. She was trembling when he touched behind her ear, and only slowly relaxed into the contact.

That both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked absolutely murderous at the moment wasn't lost on anyone, except perhaps Nightshade herself. She was too focused on Jazz's touch and convincing herself that he wasn't a danger just yet.

"Wha'd ah ever do ta make ya so afraid o me?" Jazz asked softly when she stopped trembling.

"Nothing," she answered quietly, leaning into the touch. "You've done nothing," she repeated. "It's just a reflex."

"Ah won't go inta your head," he promised. "Ah've got other ways ta find out what's goin' on in there."

She nodded agreeably and turned her attention back to her meal when Jazz returned to his 'gift'. The twins wasted no time in joining her. Sunstreaker patted and stroking her right side while Sideswipe turned his attention to the spot behind her left ear that Jazz had vacated.

"He's a youngling, a hatchling really, despite his full grown body," Jazz answered Major Lennox's look, his voice low enough not to catch her attention. "Think of a four or five year old human child. He may have full lingual control, but he's still operating more on reflex than his logic or social processors."

"So he's a five year old in the body of a monster killing machine?" the human looked ever more dubious at the wisdom of letting her move about freely.

"Somethin' like that," Jazz nodded.

"The transport is landing in a clearing sixteen miles west of our present location," Prime announced to them all.

Nightshade looked over at him. "Can we make a pass over Panama/Colombia boarder before going home?"

"Why?" he raised an opticridge at her but kept all other body language neutral.

"A peace offering to Fire Noble," she motioned to the two uneaten dead Cons.

"That's a _long_ detour," Major Lennox objected. "Why..." he stopped at the look every mech there gave him. "Right, this Fire Noble isn't welcome up north, even for a peace offering."

"Good summary," Jazz said while Sunstreaker and Sideswipe picked up the dead, Nightshade picked up the half-eaten bot that was her snack and Prime picked up the immobilized prisoner for the trek to the temporary landing strip.

"I will ask about using the transport for your mission," Prime decided. "It may be a few days."

"No problem," Nightshade gave him a deadly-looking grin as Ironhide, Ratchet, Hound and Trailbraker transformed to provide transport for their human allies.

Jazz smiled down at the humans getting on board Ironhide. "Fire Noble is the same class of Cybertronian as Nightshade and Bloody Mary. I believe you saw the recording of what happens when they cross paths."

"Yeah," Lennox acknowledged with a grim nod. "I saw. How many of them are out there?"

"According to Nightshade, there eleven in all, spread out rather evenly across the planet," Jazz said. "We've been try'n ta make contact, but it's not easy. Seems they aren't much on being found."

"You could always use him as bait," Lennox said quietly. "It'd draw'm out from what I saw."

"It would," Jazz acknowledged with a nod and glanced over at Nightshade, who was still happily munching away on her kill as she walked upright. It took almost all his skill to not react badly to the sight and sound. Killing was one thing. Consuming a _person_ you've killed ... that was well outside anything he was prepared to take well. As far as he could tell though, she was oblivious to the distress she was causing. "It would also make the one we found highly hostile on first encounter and make Nightshade extremely hostile, even if he agreed to it."

"Not a good move then," Lennox sighed and tried to relax in Ironhide's cab.

"Not in the least," the old warrior spoke up. "That's no position to put a youngling in, even if he has his final frame."

"It's hard to look at _that_ and see a child," Lennox pointed out. "That's gotta be the meanest killing machine I've seen, _including_ you and Megatron."

"She's not mean," Jazz corrected him. "A top-notch killing machine she is though."

"She?" Lennox looked between Jazz and the monster that stood head and shoulders above Prime.

"Yes, she," Jazz let a small sound out of his vents. "Nightshade's not well settled into an identity, any identity. Base mode's male, the rest are femmes. He'll answer to either."

"You sure he doesn't have MPD or somethin?" Epps gave another look at the subject of the conversation.

Jazz took a moment to look the information up, then shook his head. "Nah, man. It's not like that. Nothin' worse than Sides. Different core programmin' for different situations is all. Like you can be loving and gentle at home and come out here with us ta kill Cons."

He was pleased to note that his final example hit home with the human soldiers. It did, however, mean that the sound of tires, feet and Nightshade's chewing were the only sounds to distract them for the rest of the march.


	17. Hunting for Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz has a favor to ask of Nightshade, the first in the two months since quietly surrendering Intel's first claim on the new bot to the frontliners.

Nightshade lounged on the barracks roof, soaking in the early afternoon sunshine and sleepily watching the activity of the base. It seemed to be growing daily. At least half the mechs hadn't been around when she'd first walked onto base. There were three more temporary buildings, and the beginning of construction of what would be an actual Cybertronian facility that could house hundreds.

It had everyone excited.

It wasn't an excitement Nightshade could bring herself to share. Some of the newcomers were nice, most were odd, but it was becoming entirely too crowded here for her. She still had to rely on her visor readouts to ID some of the mechs that had been there when she'd arrived. The number of newcomers just made her want to whimper and hide from the crowd.

It was odd too, how differently the new ones treated her depending on the form, like they didn't recognize that it was the same person.

Her current one, the smallest, was almost ignored. Which admittedly suited Nightshade just fine. Like a drone, or so she'd been told by a fairly small bot that carried several of the microbots around inside him. Limited in programming and always bound to a larger, fully functional mech. She knew he should feel insulted to be considered a pet, but it was too useful. It meant they left her _alone_.

It also meant they tended to forget she was in the room, or anywhere else, and talked and acted with little regard for the fact they were being watched by the lithe robotic canid that stood no taller than a human. This was especially true of the largest ones.

She focused her gaze on the sudden excitement at the sparring ground. Optimus Prime and Ironhide were the center of attention. It wasn't often the leader was on that field. He hardly ever won against his teacher.

With a low chuckle and shake of her head, her musing returned to the odd treatment she received from those not in her small circle of friends and allies.

As a mech, he was treated normally; just like one of the gang, and rarely even thought of as a former human. They were too happy to see another friendly Cybertronian around to care exactly how he'd gotten that way.

Then there was weapon mode, one she'd learned quickly to avoid off the sparring ground. It absolutely freaked everyone out. Even those that didn't want to show it, like Ratchet and Bluestreak, she could feel it in their frames. Inherent fear. Something deep and instinctive in their core code.

What the basis was, she had no better clue than they did, for Cybertron had no werewolf myths, or even anything that might qualify on a distant level. All anyone knew was that her weapon mode could panic some mechs outright and made almost everyone else uncomfortable on some level. Ratchet thought it was some kind of harmonic resonance gibberish that the mode emitted.

Nightshade couldn't bring herself to care. They were afraid of the bad-tempered giant killing machine. That was _good_.

Only three individuals didn't seem afraid if it. Ironhide, and the Stingray Twins. She was sure Ironhide was simply too old a warrior to be rattled, and the twins ... they were just as bloodlust driven as she was when she surrendered fully to the mode's coding.

Prime said it was because all four of them were warrior-sparks.

She suspected it might be more that they were all the same kind of outcast; those with no purpose other than brutal, efficient slaughter.

How long had she been here?

More than a couple weeks, but not long enough for winter to set in.

Almost absently her processor indicated the exact number of days ... and hours, minutes and seconds to the fraction ... could be computed if she wished.

She just didn't wish to. It was much as Ratchet had said when she'd first arrived. The trouble wasn't in her hardware; it was in how she thought about things. She wasn't broken; she'd simply never learned to access her full capabilities. Much to the CMO's irritation, she didn't particularly care to learn. In a completely twisted way, it was the tie to her human life she was most reluctant to sever.

So a month, possibly two or three, and she was already thinking like one of them in her own head. Code and processors and programming and whatnot.

She was just beginning to stand, ready to shake herself out for a hard run to stop her from thinking so much, when a familiar voice called up to her.

"Hay 'Shade, baby. Ah got a favor ta ask ya!"

"Will Ratchet threaten me afterwards?" she asked with a teasing grin and jumped down, landing next to him before transforming to base mode.

"Nah, nothin' like that," Jazz promised and held out a datapad. "I hav'ta go ta China with some of the gang, but this weekend's the only chance I'll get ta scan the new Lexus LF-A before it's old news."

"So you want me to scan it for you," Nightshade looked at the datapad, scanned the contents and committed the important details to memory before nodding and subspacing the pad. "You do this _every_ year?"

"Whenever ah can," he grinned up. "I cleared the time with Prime. You're good ta go, if ya will."

Nightshade considered the request, his head cocked slightly to the side. Several days alone, in the desert, staking out a corporate racetrack to scan a prototype car. So very much like the months he'd spent stalking the NEST base, but not nearly as dangerous.

"Sure," he decided. "I'll grab a scan of it for'ya."

Jazz absolutely beamed and gripped Nightshade's arm in thanks. "You're a spark-saver, 'Shade."

The brown-black mech laughed and cuffed the much smaller mech's shoulder in return. "Your vanity will be the death of you yet."

"Nah, Prowl grounds me," Jazz winked from behind his visor and turned to go to the mission briefing. "We've got the Globemaster for your little side-trip when I get back."

He couldn't blame Nightshade for not knowing, or at least not understanding, that he'd been told that his entire life and it had come true except for his bond to Prowl three times already. He still had twinges from the most recent, when Megatron had ripped him in two at Mission City a year before. Moments here and there that reminded him that he wasn't 100% yet. Close, but not quite.

He gave Mirage a brief nod as they passed.

Mirage inclined his head faintly to his CO and walked around the side of the building, out of Nightshade's line of sight to engage his electro-disruptor. The mission was on.

When he heard the distinctive sound of Nightshade's jet engines power up he commed Tread Bolt. He'd need the lift if he was going to spend as much time as he could observing Nightshade in a relatively natural state.

The noble mused to himself at the strangeness of the situation as Tread Bolt swept him up and flew towards the racetrack. The three stealthiest mechs in the Autobot army were all going to the same place and there wouldn't be a Decepticon in sight. There was a slight twinge about spying so blatantly on one of their own, even if he ... she ... why the pit did Nightshade have to shift gender designations like that? Why did everyone seem perfectly happy to indulge him in it?

Jazz had stilled his unease at the mission with a reminder that Nightshade still didn't wear the Autobot insignia, and still posed a serious danger if he ever turned on them.

It was a tacit reminder that the war was still being fought, and the Decepticons may not be their only enemies now.

* * *

That tacit reminder was doing Mirage absolutely no good two days into surveillance. He was bored out of his processor watching Nightshade's alt mode lie perfectly still, with only the top of her head above ground. The only movement was from the local animals. Three types of large avian and a group of small tan canines had visited Nightshade at her hiding spot. A pair of the canines had all but run into him, concealed in his own hiding spot on a bluff a quarter mile from where she was.

It was processor-numbingly boring. Sure he'd been on stakeouts before, some lasting metacycles, but it was always somewhere there was _activity_. This keeping watch on a mech keeping watch was making him glitchy.

::Hay Mirage, you want to come down and talk?:: Nightshade's hail nearly made him jump. For a moment, he considered pretending he hadn't received it, but she's called him by name and it was a directed transmission; she knew where he was, at least roughly.

::How'd you spot me?:: he asked without moving.

Her laugh was playful. ::I heard your pump and spark-beat yesterday. Come on, I'm board out of my skull waiting for this prototype to show.::

::How'd you know it was me?:: he asked even as he cautiously began to roll away from the bluff edge and towards flatland where he could reach her from.

::I guessed,:: she admitted unabashedly. ::Jazz isn't in the States. Bumblebee wouldn't be still that long given his charge and isn't as quiet. Whiplash's internals are a _lot_ quieter. Actually Jazz is too. Prowl would never leave base for this long just to watch an abandoned track. Hound's internals sound _way_ different, even rougher than Ironhide's. Chromia's are smoother and deeper. I never hear Silver Shadow when she's in stealth mode. Jenn can't stay still that long and her spark-beat is much faster. Which left you on the list of folks who might sit still that long.::

::That was a very logical process of elimination, not a guess,:: he told her with a hint of approval in his tone as he drove to her location. ::You've paid more attention than most give you credit for.::

The response that came back was more surprised sound than anything, and he smiled to himself. This wasn't part of his mission, and it was professionally insulting to be caught, but at least it wasn't because of anything he'd overlooked other than how well his target could hear. He'd definitely have a chat with Jazz about that one later. If anyone who'd talk knew about her hearing it would be him.

As he drove up near her spot, it occurred to him that she hadn't asked why he was out here. Did she assume there were on the same mission, as backup in case she failed ... or was it that she didn't expect an answer so she didn't bother to ask?

He'd love to know, but it would open him up to questions he'd rather not answer. It generally wasn't a good idea to respond to any question with 'to spy on you' no matter what the circumstances. Especially when the mech you would be saying it to could tear you to tiny pieces without thinking about it. He knew he was one of the better close-quarters fighters on Earth, but he'd also seen more than enough of her with the Twins on the sparring field to know it wasn't a fight he wanted to risk.

"Did you see me dig in?" Nightshade opened the conversation when he'd settled into idle mode near her still-buried form.

"Yes," Mirage answered. It was the truth, even if was only by a matter of a few minutes. He turned his sensors to focus on where he knew she was. Then scanned again. Waited a full breem with his full scanner suite locked on her location. "How are you doing that?"

Her energy signature immediately appeared.

"Hunting reflex. I freeze when I sense something about to detect me," she explained with a friendly tone he honestly wasn't used to from anyone but Jazz and Whiplash. "I kept everything still for over an hour when Jazz almost found me. I never went back to that outlook, even if it did have the best view of the base."

"I know the one you mean," he smiled to himself. "It has quite a view of the sunset as well."

"Would you explain something to me?" she asked out of nowhere after several breems of quiet.

"If I can," he worded his answer carefully, though it was a reflex by now.

"If the Decepticons are basically defeated, why is Cybertron a lost cause without the Allspark?"

Mirage was silent for several kliks, not only to formulate a response, but out of surprise that this former human that rarely seemed to think past the next klik was curious about Cybertron's future.

"It's okay if you don't know," she eventually said.

Apparently he'd been thinking too long.

"It is not that," he said, still working out what to say when the truth hit him. He didn't know. By the time he'd joined the war effort, no one was talking about why anymore, if they ever had. It was simply a statement. If the Allspark was lost, Cybertron was lost.

Prime believed that with the Allspark gone, Cybertron was dead and gone. Mirage doubted anyone questioned it.

He certainly hadn't.

But should he admit it to this outsider?

She allowed him the better part of three joor to think this time; long enough for him to forget she'd asked anything as he began to analyze something far more interesting to him. Their energy fields had modulated into an extremely pleasant resonance. It wasn't something that happened very often even with lovers after a hardline interface. How it could happen with a stranger he barely knew?

"If you have to think that long, I should ask someone else," she said quietly, almost apologetically. "It must be hard to remember losing your home."

Even in his surprise, he recognized her intention, as badly chosen and worded as it was. Despite the ache in his spark and his curiosity over other things, he knew Jazz would be disappointed if he didn't take this opportunity to chat her up. It wasn't as if he didn't have exceptional small talk programming and the best interrogation instructor Cybertron had to offer.

"It is," Mirage acknowledged as he cautiously extended his energy field to brush against hers more directly and felt her respond immediately by trying to weave the edges together. Despite the familiar touch, he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't was it seemed. "I lost my home and people long before Cybertron was lost. The Towers had little in common with the lower levels I've had to live in since."

"Do they treat you differently?" her optics flicked towards his low-slung Bentley Le Mans Racer alt mode briefly.

"Some do," he answered. "Those who are important do not. Most don't bother either way."

A low vibration, almost a hum, vibrated the ground under his wheels.

"Who treats you like you're normal?" she asked.

He knew, without any doubt, that she was oblivious to the insult she'd just given him. Somehow, the implication that he was normal didn't rankle much coming from one who was so far from it that he knew he did seem like a commoner.

"Jazz and Whiplash have always respected me for my abilities and never held my noble heritage against me. Prime is a noble, though of a different class. Ironhide and the Twins like me the least, with the possible exception of a few that aren't on Earth.

"Do you feel like you have lost your home?" he pressed her for information gently, just to see how resistant she was. The low chuckle that greeted the question was not what he'd been expecting.

"If I remembered anything about it, I might," she continued to snicker. "I figured Jazz would have given you my profile and his notes by now."

"Why's that?" Mirage transformed and lay down on his chest plates so he could make optic contact. "You know they can't see you up here. Unbury yourself while we talk."

"You are one of his," she cocked her head as it broke free of the sandy soil, followed by the rest of a frame that seemed far too small for it's weapon mode. "I figured he'd keep all his agents up to date on the resident non-Autobot."

"Do you really believe that?" he looked at her, trying to gage her mood with little success.

She looked from the abandoned track to him and back a couple times before settling on looking him in the optics. "It's what I would do. He's got to realize if I turn on you it won't be the warriors that can bring me down."

It took every relay of self-control he had to restrict his reaction when it hit his processors that she was so calmly talking about her own assassination on the orders of someone she was close to.

"I think I've proven rather effectively that a traditional battle would have significant casualties," she told him without any conceit. "A black ops mission, an assassination, is Jazz's department."

This time Mirage didn't hide his reaction. "Autobots..."

"Please don't insult me," Nightshade cut him off with a sigh. " _Jazz_ acknowledged he's done assassinations. I get the 'don't talk about it to outsiders' thing, but I know some of Intel is more than spies, scouts and analysts, and you're one of those others."

He narrowed his optics at that statement, his internals spiking at both the accusation and implications of how she could have learned. He was very careful not to make himself even more of an outcast by admitting to his full activities.

"You will keep that theory to yourself, please," Mirage told her as firmly as he could. "Autobots don't assassinate people."

Nightshade rolled her optics. "What do you call it then, the killing of someone before they know you're there?"

Mirage stared at her. "You're serious. Why the fascination with what we _don't do_?"

She snorted through her vents, blowing up dust around her shoulders. "Trying to work out if the average Autobot officer is ignorant and stupid, or carrying the party line way the fuck too far."

"Neither," he didn't modulate the sharpness in his voice. It had the desired affect as she shifted away from him and her energy field flickered out of resonance briefly in an apology he could feel in his very spark. When she'd learn how to do that? Probably never, it hit him a klik later. Jazz had warned him that while she was fully sentient, she functioned on primitive core programming as much as any beast-drone. "Plausible deniability to the Prime. Assassination is murder under the law, even in wartime." He paused at the absolute disbelief on her alien face as it quickly morphed into a strange mixture of disgust and fury that surged along her energy field hot enough it nearly burned as he pulled his away.

"So killing is battle is fine, but killing quietly is not?" the pure disgust in her tone and even more intense fury lapping at his energy field from hers was a shock. "Primus, and I thought the government was fucked up."

"The U.S.A.'s government?" he asked, just to be sure. There were so many on this planet, and she may not have even been referring to a native one.

"Yes, yes," Nightshade groused, slowly cooling her temper with an effort to find something else to talk about. "I may hate the way it runs sometimes, but at least there is an acknowledgment of what's been done, and a tacit lack of denial about it still happening. Assassination is murder to your own government?" her rage flared hotly again, washing over Mirage in waves as she struggled not to move. "What kind of half-witted, short-sighted, brainless..." she continued ranting, dropping in and out of languages he recognized and soon hitting words he couldn't find on the internet at all.

Mirage let her rant, recording every sound and twitch, especially when she began to pace in the cool darkness of a moonless night. Jazz knew more local languages, particularly when it came to the slang and curses. He'd probably get more out of it.

The snarling ended almost as abruptly as it began and Nightshade stilled her movements. Only the gusts and labored creaking of her armor were audible as she sucked in air in and forced it through her main body to help cool her systems.

She made a short, sharp barking sound and stilled, her attention northeast and focused.

Mirage focused his senses that direction, but encountered nothing unusual; only the sounds of the native animal life and environment.

"They're on their way," Nightshade told him as she jumped from the small bluff and trotted towards the secured but unguarded racetrack.

::Who's on their way?:: he called after her without moving.

::The humans and that car Jazz wants scanned,:: came the easy reply. ::They just left their R&D facility.::


	18. The Wolf Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon returning to base, Mirage has both a disturbing and enlightening time in the wash racks as he gets three days and as many states worth of grime off himself.

Mirage stood under the pleasantly warm downpour of solvent rich liquid, shifting and stretching to help it wash the dusty sand from every crevice of his frame. Three days on stakeout and a drive across two and a half states had done horrible things to perfect body and paintjob. Despite his firm and resolute desire to clean up, retouch his paint, make his report to Jazz and recharge in his own berth, he knew it wasn't going to be nearly that simple.

That reason was standing, fidgeting actually, under a second cascade of cleansing solvent on the other side of the communal wash racks. This was, to his knowledge, one of only two places Nightshade voluntarily assumed base mode. Here and when he was between the Twins, either in their berth or on the way somewhere.

Now _that_ was a situation that not even Jazz had managed to wrap his processors around. Pretty much the entire base knew the three recharged together. None of them denied it, though the subject would typically elicit a feral growl from Nightshade and dirty looks from the Twins. It wasn't for the statement though, as Jazz had somehow found out. It was for the implication that they were lovers.

Why that irritated this creature not even Jazz could tell him, but it definitely did. Not as much as having anyone else make an advance on him, but that was something else entirely. He didn't _behave_ like he was bonded to anyone else, but he sure did with the Twins. Just another frustrating thing about their newest recruit as far as Mirage was concerned.

What really bothered his processors about the whole situation with the Twins was that it simply was not in their profile to take to anyone if a good 'facing or something equally hedonistic wasn't in it for them. Their attention to Nightshade broke every single social norm the pair of killers had. That was more than enough to make it of distinct interest to most of the Intel department and a solid two-thirds of the command element.

Motion out of the corner of his optic snapped his attention back to the physical world and he reset his optics in surprise to see Nightshade walking towards him.

"Wash your back?" Nightshade offered with only a touch of hesitation.

Mirage was just about to agree when he caught the flicker of Nightshade's energy field ghosting against his own and his CPU instantly flashed an image of the terror twins walking into the room fresh from a long plane ride off a battlefield and thought better of it. It would hardly matter to them if it was Nightshade's idea and it was nothing more than mutual assistance in reaching difficult spots.

"The twins should be landing any time now," he said instead of directly answering. "The transport requested final approach clearance two kliks ago."

A slightly confused look crossed Nightshade's face, then he shrugged. A nanoklik later delight was there and he dropped into alt mode to dart outside, no doubt to greet the frontliners he ... she ... _it_ ... yes, Nightshade was an _it_ until it decided what it was ... was so fond of.

Mirage shook his head in bemusement. Was it really so focused on the shower that it missed the transport's message? And those focus shifts were as bad as anyone he'd ever heard of, including _Starscream_. What mangled excuse for programming and a CPU created such a creature?

~What has you all riled up, love?~ Hound's warm, soothing presence washed over Mirage across the spark-bond they shared.

~That ... that ... _wolf_ ,~ he answered, still irritated but calming down quickly. ~It is insufferably convoluted.~

~That 'wolf' has more pain to deal with than any of us,~ Hound reminded him with gentle firmness as they met outside the wash racks. ~We're on an alien world, but _she's_ in an alien body surrounded by everything she once knew. How well do you think any of us would deal with being human on Cybertron?~

Mirage took one look at his bonded's mud-covered frame and unceremoniously hauled him inside the wash racks.

~Poorly,~ he acknowledged. ~It's not the same though. It's...~

~Her,~ Hound corrected, earning a glare from Mirage as they stepped under a warm solvent spray.

~ _It_ now has a vastly superior form, a lifespan measured in eons, abilities it couldn't have dreamed of...~

~ _She_ is completely alienated from her own people who she must still live among but hide from, forced to accept whatever good graces a rag-tag group of alien refugees offers, adapt to a body that isn't even based on the same _element_ , deal with the fact that she is now likely to outlive her original _species_ , deal with new core programming that if you've watched her at all you know is as alien to her as her new body and quite capable of overriding her higher processor functions...~

~Hound!~ Mirage interrupted the tirade. "I get it," he continued softly and pulled the heavy green mech around to face him. He briefly lowered his helm to touch foreheads with his bonded. "She's a confused, ill-socialized hatchling in an adult body." He straitened with a resigned rush of air from his vents. "That doesn't make it any less frustrating for me to deal with her." He regarded the scout with a bit of a scowl. "When did you become an expert on our resident problem hatchling?"

Hound nodded his acceptance, then smiled with a rumbled chuckle. "Since we both spend a lot of time in the desert. She's actually very friendly and talkative if you're willing to listen to rambling commentary that jumps subjects without warning and not interrupt the periodic random rants. Hint on those; don't try and reason with her about it, any part of it. It'll just wind her up into another round until she needs to destroy something to wind down. Same goes with the whole assassination thing. _Prime_ can't convince her we don't, so I doubt anything will. Just let her have the delusion. It'll save you a lot of snarling and ill-will on her part."

Mirage nodded slowly in acceptance as he rolled the information around his processors and decided that it fit with what he'd experienced. _Hatchling_ he kept reminding himself. A hatchling in a mech's body.

He suddenly startled as something clicked in his processors. "If she really is a hatchling," he murmured. "That explains the Twins."

Hound cocked his head and turned the shower off. "You're missing a couple things in there," he teased lightly.

"If she really is a hatchling, then the Twin's actions in taking someone who isn't a lover into their berth make sense," he explained more fully. "They came on line the same way, full grown combat machines from the first nanoklik. She has the same kind of instant-mission-ready coding from what I saw."

Hound just looked at him. While it made sense, it also didn't.

"They're protecting one of their own. Someone who's more like them than they are to the rest of us," Mirage continued as they walked out of the wash racks, passing several mechs fresh from the Thailand mission heading in. "The warriors sparked, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Ironhide, took in a newly hatched warrior to protect her from the rest of us mangling her programming before she'd settled into it. Once such fostering was normal, at least for some groups. Bumblebee is conflicted because he's a scout raised by a warrior. He has scout coding but was raised as a guardian warrior, like Ironhide."

Hound nodded thoughtfully, all while assessing the condition of the mechs they passed and making note of who wasn't among them. "That does make sense. The Twins and Jazz..."

"Jazz is in his office, waiting for me. I'm sure Nightshade waylaid the Twins. She was fairly ... excited ... in the wash rack just before they landed," Mirage reassured him.

~Mmm, so no chance I can distract you to stop by our quarters first?~ Hound rumbled seductively across their bond, elated at the slight shiver the mere tone of his suggestion elicited.

~I'm afraid not,~ Mirage said reluctantly. ~I do need to report to Jazz now.~

~Later then,~ Hound chuckled and walked in comfortable silence before he turned to head to the common room and Mirage went towards the officer's offices.

Jazz glanced up at his agent when Mirage entered the office, but Prowl, looking over the SIC's shoulder at a datapad in Jazz's hands, didn't bother.

One look told Mirage that his CO was in relatively good shape with only a few minor scrapes and dings for the mission. He still had no doubt that Prowl's presence had far more to do with being left out of a battle his bonded was in than any real interest in his report or the one they'd been reading.

"So what'd ya learn?" Jazz asked with a grin when the door had closed and locked.

Even without being motioned to, Mirage took a conformable seat across from Jazz from long habit. Of all the command staff, Jazz was the least partial to formality of any kind.

"Not much you probably didn't know," Mirage admitted. "Her audio receptors are far more advanced than I understood. She picked up both my pump and spark-beat on the first day. She was also able to determine my approximate location without moving and without my being aware of it until she hailed me by name the next day."

"Were you invisible?" Prowl asked, now looking at least mildly interested.

"No, I can't maintain the field for that long. I dropped it once I was in place. She indicated she knew who it was by my spark-beat and sound of internals by a process of elimination," Mirage was suddenly the focus of both officers. "Apparently Hound's are the roughest and loudest, followed by Ironhide, then Bumblebee. Whiplash and Jazz are much quieter than mine. Chromia's are smoother and deeper. Jenn's spark-beat is much faster, but apparently of a similar volume. I gather Prowl's is of a similar volume to mine, but she is of the opinion that he would not sit still that long in the middle of nowhere, Jenn can't be still that long and Bumblebee wouldn't, given his charge. She did indicate that she can't hear Silver Shadow at all in stealth mode."

"Impressive," Prowl murmured. "We knew she had extremely sensitive hearing, but not that she could distinguish so many of us by our internal sounds."

"She's displaying more logic than usual too, with that process of elimination," Jazz added thoughtfully. An unhappy scowl crossed his features, only to be driven off by a light touch of Prowl's fingers on his shoulder armor.

Mirage had no doubt a few silent words passed between them as well.

"She is extremely susceptible to mild praise as well," Mirage said. "Flattery isn't even needed, just telling her she did better than she thought seems quite enough."

Jazz was nodding, already familiar with that aspect. "He's young and wants to please."

"Does Nightshade default to a mech or femme?" Mirage asked with a low rumble of annoyance.

"Mech," Jazz responded with an understanding look. "Did he ask why you were out there?"

"No," he shook his head slightly. "The main subjects that came up were why Cybertron is dead, what I remember of it before the war, and ah..." he glanced at Prowl.

"Bonded," Jazz reminded him lightly.

"Right. The whole assassination thing," Mirage finished.

"Le'me guess," Jazz chuckled softly. "Ya insisted that we don't do such things, and 'e went off on ya big time."

"Only verbally," Mirage nodded, more than slightly curious now. "He indicated you no longer denied it, at least to him."

"Sometimes the best answer is not to answer. Between mahself, Whiplash and Prime, it's become quite clear that he will not believe anyone who challenges that particular belief. He will keep pushing until something distracts'im or ya stop denying it."

"Yes, I noticed that. He stopped in the middle of a tirade and switched gears faster than I've seen in a long time when he noticed the humans approaching. It was very much like a switch was flipped."

Prowl nodded. "That correlates to Ratchet's report on his battle computer. Like mine, Nightshade's is the master controller for his CPU."

"Only his is programmed for combat instead of tactical analysis," Jazz added.

"He's built like the Twins and Ironhide," Mirage nodded slightly. "Did Ratchet indicate how long it will take him to settle into his programming?"

"Likely the same length it does for most; five to ten vorn," Jazz said, choosing not to comment on the way Mirage winced.

"We're in for a long few vorn," Mirage muttered under his breath. "The natives will be permanently traumatized by then. Ten generations or more of a psychotic pre-programmed warrior hatchling running around. What is the plan for making him wear the Autobot insignia?"

"There isn't one," Prowl said firmly with a slight rumble of displeasure to his engine. "No one will ever be _made_ to wear it."

Jazz flicked his optics up in a tolerant bemusement at his bonded's attitude. "The usual. Give'm a home, make sure he understands the rules, train him in what he's good at, try to make friends."

Mirage nodded slightly. "One last thought," he glanced between the SIC and TIC. "At least among Tower mechs, there was a practice called fostering where a youngling would be sent to one with similar base programming to be raised."

"It was done within the military and Intel as well, when we could," Jazz nodded, then cocked his head. "Ya believe that the Twins have taken him in as a fosterling?"

"It would explain their unusual behavior," Prowl mused.

"I'll see about confirming it," Jazz said.

"Then incorporate it into the tactical plans," Prowl finished the train of thought.

"If I'm ever _that_ bad, please offline me," Mirage couldn't help but chuckle.

"Only if Hound agrees," Jazz winked at him. "Now scoot. I'm sure he's wait'n for ya."


	19. Watching the Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightshade has stopped growing, is now barely eating any metal, and has a new hobby the Terror Twins are more than happy to indulge, unlike most couples he's attempted to watch. A bit of plot with not-sticky mechsmut.

~So much for needing vorn,~ Sunstreaker moaned a little more that he was strictly feeling at his brother's touch. It felt good enough, but they'd silently agreed to put on a show to specifically appeal to their audience the moment they realized he _was_ an audience. That meant a lot of extra touching in places that didn't mean anything special to them and vocalizing more than they usually did. ~It hasn't even been half a stellar cycle.~

~He was given an adult frame,~ Sideswipe mentally shrugged as he dipped his clawed fingers deep under his brother's hip armor to tantalize him. ~But I'm with you in being glad it's _over_. Field play doesn't cut it for long, no matter how responsive he is.~

~That and it's a little weird, doing that with somebody who doesn't ever want more,~ Sunstreaker groaned for real and pressed into his twin's touch. "Oh yeah!"

~You're getting off on him _wanting_ to watch as much as my touch,~ Sideswipe teased as he dipped his claws into the seam of Sunstreaker's hip joints.

~You're one to talk,~ Sunstreaker's cry of pleasure was completely genuine as he pressed into the contact, driving his brother's fingers deep to press against wires and sensors that rarely knew direct contact. ~ _Look_ at him!~ he whined as his fans kicked on high in an effort to control racing systems. ~He looks so hungry.~

Sideswipe spared a glance towards the desk and instantly regretted it. A low whine escaped his vocalizer at the intense expression locked on them. It was pure predator, the kind of look most warriors couldn't even pull off and he _knew_ it came naturally to this one. Nightshade didn't have the experience or guile to fake anything so primal.

"Join us?" Sideswipe rumbled before he could think much less stop himself. He knew what he wanted, what his twin wanted, what the other wanted.

They both knew before Nightshade had even processed the two simple words, much less their intent, that it had been a mistake.

Less than a nanoklik later the voyeur blinked, stiffened in distress and rolled forward to four small feet in a quiet, lightning-fast transformation. She'd slunk halfway to the door before Sideswipe stopped her.

"Don't go," he struggled to keep the lust from his voice.

"We like you watching," Sunstreaker added, not bothering with the restraint as he pressed his fingers under the armor of his brother's back to drag a strangled moan and grinned at the quadruped looking at them and shifting from foot to foot. "That look on your face. So hot."

Sideswipe retaliated by driving his fingers under Sunstreaker's chest armor, going right for the cables that ran into his spark. The golden warrior nearly arched off the berth despite the weight of his brother on top of him and cried out sharply, his voice all but static and his optics flickering erratically as overload took him hard without warning.

He grinned down at the shuddering form and flicked a cautious glance towards their voyeur. With a private grin he shifted off Sunstreaker and slid off the berth, making an effort to display the supple grace he was known for as he stood. It took effort to mute his vocalizer as he rolled the two paces to where Nightshade was standing as a mech and reach out to caress his shoulder armor, sliding his fingers towards Nightshade's neck.

The touch seemed to shock Nightshade back to reality and his optics snapped from Sunstreaker's recovering form to met Sideswipe's.

He smiled at him and slid his fingers up the thick, powerful neck and along the squared edges of Nightshade's jaw. Even in base mode he had a predatory edge on his frame. All close-quarters power; the exact opposite of himself, and even very different from most frontliners who were built to use heavy weapons, like Ironhide.

Sideswipe couldn't stop the small sound of surprise he made when Nightshade shifted his head to give his palm a kiss as it came up to brush his cheek. When he felt the derma part and a glossa lick his palm, he didn't try to stop the low sound of approval that came out. He'd worked hard to memorize everything he could find about the area Nightshade had come from as a human, especially their sexual signals.

This one might not have been on the list, but every tongue contact he knew about was.

He brushed his thumb across Nightshade's cheek plate and leaned forward to lightly press their derma together. It was an alien action to him, but when Nightshade shifted forward to close the distance between their chassis and pressed into the kiss with a demanding hunger he knew it was a good move. Large, powerful arms wrapped around his chassis, pulling him close, against the heat and into the erratic energy field before three thick fingers dug into the seams of his back armor.

It was enough to drag a moan from his vocalizer and curl his fingers into the cabling of Nightshade's neck and sides. He broke the kiss and moved his derma down to Nightshade's neck to nip at the cables. From the low moan he heard, it was a welcome move as well.

~Hot,~ Sunstreaker was a very strong presence in their bond.

~Stay still Sunny. He wants, oh he wants, but two on one is a bit much,~ he tried to press the importance of not reminding their former voyeur that there were three of them in the room.

~I can handle watching,~ the golden warrior agreed quite readily, optics lingering as he worked up and down the embracing, touching pair and drank in all the little pleasured noises that Nightshade offered up for the treatment he was receiving.

Nightshade's hands had moved down to Sideswipe's aft, clawed fingers pressed into seams and joints where legs met hip and pulled him tightly against his own chassis. Absently Sunstreaker's memory banks supplied that it was a _very_ interface-indicative move for a human; it pressed their interface parts together. That and the heady sounds Nightshade was making were quite enough to make him whine across the bond to be let in more fully.

Sideswipe's processors were already foggy with pleasure and need, he'd have given two overloads before he would have any chance at one, but he was still coherent enough to answer his brother in addition to working Nightshade's chassis and field. ~If you _twitch_ , he's still likely to bolt,~ he reminded Sunstreaker before throwing the floodgates open and feeding his twin every touch he gave a received and every sound he heard.

Sunstreaker had to mute his vocalizer to keep from moaning at the sight of his brother working over a mech they both wanted right in front of him and the raw power of what Sideswipe was feeling.

Even when Nightshade's clawed fingers dug in in a less pleasant way, it was still good. The warrior's slipping control was intoxicating in it's own right.

Between moans and nipping bites meant to pleasure, clawed fingers slipped under armor to caress and stimulate rarely touched wires, cables and cogs and energy fields flared and twisted, dancing and mingling as their pleasure mounted.

His vents wide open and fans at maximum, Sideswipe took a step backwards and began the turn to get Nightshade so he'd sit on the edge of the berth. With a light push the larger mech complied, and all but pulled the red mech into his lap in an effort to keep the close chest to chest contact.

Sideswipe moaned into another kiss as he settled, straddling the other's legs, their pelvic girdles and chest armor sparking with every little movement they were pressed so close together.

Nightshade broke their kiss to turn his denta to Sideswipe's exposed neck, his intakes hitching at the still-alien sensations of intense pleasure as a mech. Growls, moans and static-laden gasps came from his vocalizer as Sideswipe worked his way under Nightshade's back armor.

"Give in, 'Shade," he moaned into the heavier mech's audio, pressing hard against the other's burningly hot chassis and keening when claws worked further under his own back armor. "Let the pleasure take you. Overload for me handsome."

His entire frame was trembling, burning with sensations his core programming associated with pleasure but his processor called dangerous. Warnings flashed across off-lined and shuttered optics in English and Cybertronian, threatening system shutdown to cope. It was an internal debate that Nightshade pulled himself out of to a great extent at the sounds his CPU linked to speech demanded his attention.

Sideswipe was telling him something. It took a torturous moment to replay the words, longer to translate, and even longer to make his heavily distracted processors to work out what the frigging mech wanted.

"Don't." Nightshade grated out, his Cybertronian rough and heavily accented through barred denta. "Talk."

His own systems nearing the point of no return the bright red warrior merely nodded against Nightshade's neck cables and put his attention in bringing his lover to overload before he lost control. His denta working Nightshade's neck cables and all three digits on each hand working fervently to find hotspots on the chassis he was pressed against, Sideswipe only distantly realized his brother had jointed them.

A deep moaning cry escaped Nightshade when a welcome warmth pressed against his back, supporting him against the pressure of Sideswipe against his chest. Cables and processor focus he didn't realize he was using relaxed with it and allowed the pleasure to flow stronger.

The warnings were still flashing across his vision, a minor irritation. He didn't even think about it when he shifted one hand behind him to grope and try to touch whoever was behind him.

 _Sunstreaker_ a small part of him supplied.

He couldn't have cared less in that moment when a pair of two-fingered hands worked under his lower chest armor to press and fondle a thick cable there. It sent a shockwave of roiling, tingling pleasure through Nightshade's systems that he couldn't help but associate with the intense arousal from the perfect bit of porn.

A low, ragged moan, nearly a cry, escaped him. His frame shuddered and cables tightened. Processors shut down as that wonderful tingling sensation spread out from his deep in his chest to curl around every sensor in his frame. What little awareness he had left gave itself over to replaying the few intensely erotic images in his memory banks before there was nothing but intensity that went beyond description.

Held tightly in Nightshade's nearly crushing embrace, Sideswipe used his last coherent action to pull his brother closer before overload took him. Sunstreaker groaned and shuddered, pushed right to the edge of a second peak by the flood of pleasure across his bond. Without thinking he shifted, pressing his frame against Nightshade's back in just the right way to send his sensory net spiraling out of control.

* * *

Sideswipe was the first to regain coherency and lazily assessed the situation. He was still straddling Nightshade's lap, and he was quite sure the larger mech was only upright because Sunstreaker's chassis was providing counterbalance support against his back. A quick system check reminded him pointedly of the hazards of an inexperienced lover. He'd either have to deal with Ratchet, and the consequences for Nightshade from the medic, or an orn or two of minor leaks and discomfort from nicked lines and damaged cables from Nightshade loosing control.

~He sure gets intense when he relaxes,~ Sunstreaker mumbled across their bond in impressions as much as words.

~That he does,~ Sideswipe grinned back and prodded his brother to help him move Nightshade so he'd come on line between them lying on the berth. ~Imagine what he'll be like when he knows what he's doing.~

~How bad is it?~ he asked silently, fully aware of that Nightshade had the strength to tear important cables and lines with where his fingers had been.

~Minor nicks only,~ Sideswipe assured him. ~I'll be fine in a couple orn.~

~Good,~ Sunstreaker rumbled as they settled in against the waking mech between them. ~I hope he's grateful enough for the teaching to stick around for a while afterwards.~

~Why wouldn't he?~ Sideswipe lifted his head to look at his brother curiously.

~He's already flirting with half the mechs here,~ Sunstreaker regarded his brother in disbelief. ~Half a dozen return it. When was the last time a freshly mature mech _didn't_ fool around with anybody who'd agree?~

~When did we _stop_?~ Sideswipe pointed out, then cocked his head slightly. ~Why would it bother you, if you aren't looking for more?~

The golden warrior snorted out his vents. ~Well excuse me for feeling a little possessive of my first youngling ... it is _not_ funny!~ he snarled at his brother's abortive laugh that came through loud and long across their bond.

~Yes it is,~ Sideswipe continued to snicker. ~Who thought _you_ of all mechs had creator protocols to summon up.~

"Wha'da miss?" Nightshade mumbled, one half-open optic on each brother as he tried to work out why Sunstreaker was pissed, Sideswipe was nearing hysterics and he was lying between them.

"Nothin' important, Shade," Sideswipe's grin only widened. "Sunny's just feeling jealous of imaginary lovers."

"Hu?" he looked at the red warrior.

Sideswipe nuzzled him, then kissed him gently. "Don't worry about it," he all but cooed, amusement still clear in his voice. "It's not like he has a claim on you or anything. He doesn't even have a claim on _me_ , 'sides being my twin."

"That's good, I think," Nightshade said, though he didn't sound at all sure of it as he turned his attention to the golden warrior on his other side.

"Don't," Sunstreaker told him. "It's nothing."

Nightshade looked at him for a moment before deciding that it wasn't a battle he wanted to fight.

"Okay," he turned his attention back to Sideswipe. "So how do I avoid someone having a claim on me?"

"The big one that might trip you up; don't share sparks. Never open your chest except for a medic," Sideswipe said seriously with a tap on Nightshade's chest armor just over his spark chamber. "Spark sharing is a _huge_ deal. Only very committed mechs do it."

"Like Jazz and Prowl," Nightshade finally put that memory-fragment together with a name for what he'd seen.

"Yeah, like Jazz and Prowl," Sunstreaker said behind him. "It's intense, but it's not for casual pleasure."

"Everything else is really obvious, like them asking to be exclusive and such," Sideswipe continued.

"And if somebody gives you trouble, let us _know_ ," Sunstreaker rumbled with a deep growl. "They _will_ stop."

"Very quickly," Sideswipe added in an equally deadly tone.

"Umm, guys? Calm down," Nightshade looked between them, torn between being touched that they cared and disturbed by the intensity. "Nobody's messed with me that I haven't tossed through a wall."

"Good mech," Sideswipe grinned at him.

The low rumble made Nightshade wonder just how protective of him they were. It sure as blazes _felt_ like they'd claimed him. So did the kiss and embrace that came next as the twins sandwiched him tighter.

"You're tensing," Sideswipe shifted to look him in the face.

"Feels like you've claimed me," Nightshade answered before his CPU could censor the statement.

"We have, just not like that," Sunstreaker buried his face against the side of Nightshade's neck and tightly nipped at sensitive cables. "We take care of our own. You were sparked a fully-upgraded warrior like us."

"Whenever we can, we help those like us cope with those that want to change us," Sideswipe picked up. "Most bots don't like sparked warriors. We scare'm."

"They want us to conform, to be like them," Sideswipe rumbled in aggravation. "Even when Hide was young, it was like that. So we protect our own until the youngling is confident enough to stand up to the pressure."

"And the pleasure?" Nightshade murmured, pressing into the touches.

"Is pleasure, nothing more," Sunstreaker rumbled, his powerful engine in high idle to send vibrations through Nightshade's frame. "Most friends share it, and it's almost always a creator or caretaker that teaches a new mech about it."

Nightshade rolled that around his processors for a while and hummed. "That makes sense, I think."


	20. Asking for Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the process of a simple request Nightshade lets a little too much slip to the resident moral officer.

Ratchet didn't look up from his work on cataloging spare parts and materials with First Aid when Jazz walked in. Reflex-initiated scans indicated the First Lieutenant was physically fine, so he'd have to ask for what he wanted.

"So," Jazz drawled playfully as he walked up to the pair. "Are we still classifyin' lil' 'Shade and kin as triplechangers?"

Ratchet made a surprised sound and actually half turned to give the much smaller bot his full attention. "What does it matter?"

"Just for the files," Jazz grinned and shrugged. "Ah know he looked like one at first, but now ... i'z more like an alt 'n way-out-weapon mode, not what old slag-face is. He's not a flyer, and if he scans a normal alt the weirdness falls away."

"That's basically the conclusion that Bloody Mary came up with," First Aid spoke up before shrinking away at the glare his mentor gave him.

"So ... that'd be a no, we're not?" Jazz looked at the CMO for official confirmation.

"No, we're not," Ratchet confirmed. "They have an alt, base and weapon mode, no matter how weird one set of those modes are."

"Noted," Jazz gave a grin and a not-quite-right salute before escaping the medbay for safer digs. He didn't come even close to making it to the front gate before the familiar tempo of four small paws supporting a light frame loped up behind him. "Hay 'Shade," he turned on one foot to face her alt mode with a welcoming smile. It wasn't as good as having the natural stealth hunter on his team, but at least by giving her up he'd maintained a friendly relationship with her. "What's up?"

"I hear you're a major media geek," she grinned up at him, for whatever reason more comfortable using her alt around him.

"Ah've been called that," he admitted with a cheeky grin as they walked together towards the base entrance. "Lookin' for a movie?"

"Sort of," she ducked her head in a move he'd learned to recognize as mild social discomfort, as opposed to the stiff body posture that tended to herald violence triggered by more serious distress. "I'm kinda looking for a broad-spectrum sampling of Cybertronian mech-mech porn."

Jazz visor flickered several times as he reset his optics in surprise.

Prowl almost instantly nudged their bond, just checking on him after the burst of emotion.

~'M fine,~ he replied. ~'Shade just shocked me.~

A silent feeling of acceptance and flicker of adoration wrapped around his processors before Prowl slipped into the background again.

"The Twins have a pretty good collection, ya know," Jazz bought himself a moment to think, to work out if it was ignorance or an intentional move on her part to come to him and not her caretakers.

"I've skimmed it," she quickly dipped her nose in a nod. "They only have what suits their tastes. I like some of it. I want to check out what else mechs do."

Option three: she wanted something they couldn't easily provide and was independent enough to find her own resources.

Yes. Score one for the Jazz-man and socialization efforts.

"That is jumping in the deep end, ya know," he settled in to do his due diligence obligation, only to have her laugh before he could go on.

"Jazz, the body might be on the young side, but _I_ was middle-aged and indulged on the internet freely," she continued to snicker, though there was an uneasiness behind it and she no longer met his gaze as she began shifting her weight from side to side. "There's not much humans do for pleasure that I didn't know about. I'd rather _not_ scare the spark out of somebody falling back on that and my imagination. There's not _that_ much physical crossover."

He couldn't fault her on that one, even if he doubted she could scare any of them.

"Anybody in particular?" he asked gently, hoping to keep whatever emotions were going through her processors right now from taking over.

"Nah," Nightshade shook her head more slowly. "I kinda wish there was, but nobody ... not like that."

"You know you don't have to stick to the Twins," he suggested smoothly, earning a chuckle he wasn't expecting.

"I know. They made sure I understood," she gave him an odd kind of lop-sided canine grin before it disappeared and she dropped her gaze again. "There are mechs I might fool around with ... nobody to explore kinks with."

"Unless you're really sure that _you_ know what you want," Jazz surmised with an understanding look.

"Yeah," she dipped her nose in another nod, then flicked a look up at him. "Do I need to make nice with Prowl?"

"Urr?" he paused and cocked his head to look down at her.

Nightshade pushed a deep breath through her slender body before answering. "Have I been forgiven?"

It took him half a nanoklik to place what she was asking about and he grinned. "Yeah, you're good. Has he been messing with ya?" he asked even though he knew full well Prowl wasn't.

"Not that I've noticed," she shook her head. "I just don't want him mad at me for a stupid mistake."

Jazz smiled gently and reached over to pat her flat head. "He's not. He wouldn't have defended ya if he was. You're not worried about me though," he teased.

A low, quiet rumble of amusement greeted the statement. " _You_ would have used any number of ways to inform me if you were slagged off. I'm _very_ sure Sunny and Sides wouldn't let me out of their sight while you're on base either if you were," she continued to chuckle in amusement. "They're just a little over-protective of me where you're concerned."

"I have noticed," he frowned for a nanoklik. "Ya know why?"

Nightshade looked up, surprise evident in every servo of her long, expressive face. "You don't? They talked like it was common knowledge."

Jazz's optics narrowed behind his visor. "It may be, but not to me."

"Oh," she murmured, ducking her head in an apology all her own. "They think ... expect ... that you intend to break my spirit, my instincts. Something about sparked warriors like them, Ironhide and myself scare everybody else, so folks try to destroy what scares them. I guess you're the one that gets the impossible cases."

"They _said_ that?" Jazz managed not to stammer, though his processors were going full out trying to work out _why_.

"Umm, not their words, but the intent," she shifted uneasily, her frame tensing at his reaction. "They were much harsher," she murmured.

"What, exactly, were their words?" Jazz asked, his manner and tone carefully neutral even as he left no doubt that he was demanding a full answer.

Nightshade bit back a whine, shifted a couple more times and pulled up the relatively intact memory files of a dozen conversations and comments to play for him, complete with the correct voices.

Jazz listened in silence and felt his spark twist at how alienated the pair felt and what they thought others were trying to do. When specific examples were given, he tapped into the main computer to pull records on them.

When it was over, she was looking at him, her fear written plainly on her features and in the tension of her frame.

Without a sound Jazz knelt to her optic level and reached out to very gently stroke the underside of her jaw in a soothing manner. "Nightshade, I don't know what happened to them, or to those they mentioned, but I'll give you my word that _no one_ is trying to break your fighting spirit or twist your programming. Yes, the battle lust disturbs some bots, maybe most bots, but we would never try to take it away from you."

Nightshade shuttered her optics briefly, then met his gaze. "I'm not the one you need to convince," she said quietly. "I'm still talking to you."

"You wanted something." Jazz pointed out with a small smile. "I'll prep a data pack for you."

"Thanks," she gave him a weak canid smile. "But if I didn't basically trust you, I wouldn't have asked for anything."

His smile widened with honest pleasure. "Glad to hear it, Shade. Have you noticed that your memory recollection has improved significantly?"

"Not really," she admitted with a small chuckle. "But I guess that's a good thing. Probably means I'm getting used to things."

"Adaptation protocols," Jazz grinned outright. "A bit different from mine, but I'm familiar with the occasional headaches they cause. Care to come for a spin with me?"

"Yeah, but I have monitor duty in twenty," she apologized. "I'm sure I'll be free another time."

"Given I have an in with the mech that does the schedules, you can count on it," he flicked one optic off and on in a wink. "There has to be _some_ advantage to dating the base hard aft."

Nightshade snickered. "Besides the great sex and stability?"

"Besides that," he laughed and stood, not bothering to correct her terminology. "Have fun on duty," he added as they parted.

"I intent to," she called back with an utterly devious grin.


	21. Visiting Court Mont

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody Mary has invited Prime, Ratchet, Ironhide and Mirage to her base for what they all hope is a happy reunion and a little more inter-agency socializing. Another No-Nightshade chapter.

"I am counting on you to be a diplomat here, old friend," Prime reminded his former chief diplomat of times long gone.

"Have I ever let you down?" Ratchet huffed as the NEST C-17's loading ramp lowered. "It may have been a while, but I remember the game."

"Good," Prime smiled to himself.

The four Autobots rolled onto the tarmac of a base that was strikingly similar to their own. Humans, mostly military, went about on foot or in native vehicles. Here and there a Cybertronian in alt or base mode could be detected. On the far side of the sizable facility their audio receptors could pick up the familiar clang and rumble of mechs sparring and a shooting range beyond that.

It was a difficult reminder to tell themselves that there wasn't a single individual here that had ever called Cybertron home, and likely none that cared about the war with the Decepticons or the fate of the world that should have been their home.

Standing at the edge of the tarmac were two familiar forms and a deep green femme as tall as Ratchet and built much like Jazz.

Bloody Mary strode up to them with a warm, welcoming smile as they transformed. DerRitter stood on her right, heavy riffle slung across his shoulder as before. The highly polished, perfectly waxed and detailed femme stood on Mary's left without visible weapons, though from her optics every Autobot there suspected her processors were her primary one.

"Welcome to Court Mont," Mary greeted them. "I believe you know my bodyguard, DerRitter," she inclined her head towards him. "Dartmond is a social scientist and perhaps the finest linguist and singer I've had the pleasure to work with," she indicated the femme. "Unless you object, she requested to be your primary contact here. If you need anything, simply comm her."

The dark green femme had become ever more excited as the explanation happened. Though she kept it under control, Ratchet frowned at the spike in energy coursing through her systems.

"Thank you for inviting us," Optimus rumbled. "How have things progressed with Skyfire?"

"Quite well," she motioned them to follow as she turned towards the Cybertronian-sized buildings that dominated one side of the spread-out complex. "If Ratchet agrees, we plan to bring him out of stasis in the morning.

"If I agree?" the CMO raised an optic ridge at her.

"You are far more competent to tell if it is safe for him than anyone here," Mary glanced over her shoulder at him. "We've turned our mechanics and tech specialists into medics of a sort, but this goes far beyond field repairs."

"That is true," Ratchet nodded, though he was privately pleased that she thought such of him after their last encounter. It wasn't lost on his diplomatic programming how much more relaxed - nearly to the point of a different personality - she seemed to have here. It backed up a theory he was building, but he had to have time with at least several of the others before he was sure. "From the data you sent, I'd say he's reasonably intact physically. His spark is definitely intact, amazingly enough. The state of his CPU, processors and memory banks is something you don't have the scanners to determine."

"If you would prefer to download the base map and your access codes so you can check on him instead of taking the tour, you may," Mary offered with a knowing look and sent him the code to get the information for himself. "You are not the first medic I've dealt with," she chuckled at his surprised expression. "Vannet, our best mechanic and the closest thing to a Cybertronian medic we have, is in the cryo-hanger preparing for tomorrow."

"Are you _sure_ you haven't been a base commander?" Ratchet narrowed his optics at her even as he downloaded the map, complete with notes on what every room and building was, what they contained and what areas they wanted him to stay clear of. He'd have to _try_ to screw up with the data packet provided.

He was completely certain that was the point too. No plausible deniability if they were found somewhere they shouldn't be.

"A base commander, no," she chuckled softly in honest amusement. "But I have had my share of command positions for missions. Coordinating the ops portion of an invasion will do wonders for one's ability to anticipate."

Ratchet humphed before transforming and rolling towards the building marked as the cryo-hanger on the map. In the data packet was also a quick reference of the mechs and humans on base; designation, purpose and a picture.

In all, it was a rather impressive welcome package for a guest that wasn't expected to be there a week.

 _No plausible deniability_ filtered into his thoughts once more.

There was no other reason he could come up with for a lifelong spy and infiltrator to be so free with information, much less the gift of Skyfire's freedom.

Prime gave a small nod as he watched Ratchet's alt mode disappear around a multi-story building.

"You are welcome to full use of the facilities while you are here," Mary picked up as she guided them around the base. "All I ask is that you abide by the restrictions in the welcome packet. There are areas designated human-only, where the support staff can relax without fear of being stepped on or run over by an inattentive mech. Likewise there are mech-only areas where we can relax without having to watch for small squishy things running around underfoot."

"Well, at least without having to worry about _humans_ being underfoot," Dartmond flicked an optic off and on in an imitation wink from where she was walking on Mirage's right. "The animals don't pay much attention to our signs, but they tend to be better at avoiding us too. Not many mechs are quiet enough to avoid their notice."

"Hound is one of the few who can sneak up on them, but he does have to try," Mirage gave her a smile in return, fully aware that she wanted his attentions before he left. It was odd, being a more acceptable first berthmate than Jazz because they couldn't relax around him. Yet if Nightshade was anything to go by, he could understand in a way. These were people who had no hardcoded moral checks on what they would do and assessed Jazz as just like them.

Mirage may be willing to do what he had to, but he had some morals, his Tower's morals, hardcoded into him. Jazz, he was sure, had been brought on line a SpecOps agent, even if his commander refused to speak of how he became an Autobot or what happened before.

"Sparring field," Mary motioned to a large dirt covered area cordoned off by cement traffic barriers where two pairs of mechs, a light and heavy build in each pairing, were facing off against each other in weaponless combat. "Nightcap is up against a'Sombra. The other heavy is Tango, up against Jayston. They're both former civvies."

"How well are your former civilians adapting?" Prime asked as he watched the decidedly different combat styles developed in the absence of any Cybertronian training and quietly marveled at the adaptability of the former humans. Those under his command continued to astound him day to day, but these had built a functional society, learned new bodies, reworked combat techniques, forged a place for themselves in the world and coped with all that had happened to them. In less than a stellar cycle there was nothing he could pick up that called out to him as troublesome.

He had to wonder if Mary was the social architect, or merely the visible leader.

"I expect with the same variance as yours," she chuckled lightly. "A couple have decided God is definitely real and loves them. Some are coping day to day as best they can. Most of us had some level of not-normal in our lives already. This may have been an exponential step up in the weird events department, but we were already somewhat accustomed to _different_ when it hit. Your Allspark did not choose randomly," she added with quiet confidence. "If it had, the death rate in this first year should have been close to ninety-five percent. As it stand, the only dead I know of were from violence."

"You've lost people already?" Prime asked gently.

Mary just nodded at first. "Two from this unit, three others before we found them."

"Do you know who killed'm?" Ironhide rumbled, his cannons twirling lightly without fully activating.

"Four by Cons, one we aren't sure of," she lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. "Maybe Con, maybe humans."

"Humans ... you seriously think humans could have taken out one of _us_?" Ironhide regarded her dubiously as the tour continued.

"Knowing what I do, they definitely can with the right luck," she met his stare. "In much the same way that a combiner team is vulnerable. Improbable, not impossible."

"What made you consider humans?" Mirage asked her.

"Our weapons range is this way," Mary continued to the far side of the base where two of her heavier-built warriors were firing on moving ground targets. "The lack of high-energy weapon damage was a clue, but mostly it was the rather impressive number of crushed bodies in the area. He didn't go down quietly."

"Humph," Ironhide grumbled, turning his attention towards the firing range. "The gray one wasn't a soldier, was he?" he observed as they came close enough to tell who's shots where going where.

"A soldier, yes, but Partrie was, and is, a supply manager," Mary explained. "He wasn't trained for combat. With built in weapons like that though, he's learning. The rusty and tan camo is Shellshock, a sniper and field mechanic."

"How many mechs and femmes answer to you?" Mirage asked as they watched the target practice and Ironhide tried to keep from stomping up to Partrie and correcting him.

"Eleven mechs and four femmes," Mary responded, her optics making a critical appraisal of the two mechs. "Feel free to give him tips if you want," she added with a glance towards Ironhide. "He needs the help."

"Is everyone on base?" Optimus asked, keeping a careful check on his surprise at hearing there were sixteen former humans at this one facility.

"Everyone has quarters here, thought it rare for everyone to be around at the same time," she answered carefully, a subtle reminder that she didn't really trust them yet. "I did assign guest quarters on a couple assumptions I probably should not have made," Mary added as they headed back towards the buildings on the mech-only side of the base. "My understanding that Ratchet and Ironhide are a couple."

Ironhide made a grunt of confirmation of that. "For all he's likely to see the place."

"Yes, and that you would prefer to share quarters with him," she met the heavy frontliner's optics until he nodded, then shifted to Prime. "It followed that you and Mirage would prefer separate quarters, from them and each other, as your SO's are not here."

"That is quite agreeable to us," Prime nodded politely. "It would not be a hardship to share space, but it is a welcome luxury to have our own. What does SO mean?"

"Even if I am as unlikely to be in my quarters as Ratchet is his," Mirage gave her a knowing look and slightly bemused smile.

"Your sacrifices are greatly appreciated," Mary teased him in return, though her smile was genuine and her golden optics were warm with honest thanks. "Significant Other," she answered Prime. "Husband or wife are humans terms, mate and lover have ... connotations ... I'd prefer to avoid for now, not all couples are bonded as far as I've worked out," she half-shrugged in a hopeless gesture.

"I understand," Prime inclined his head slightly. "It is an acceptable term if you do not know. I do not believe anyone would take offence at it."

"Good," she relaxed fractionally.

"For reference, 'bonded' would be correct for Ironhide and Ratchet, Jazz and Prowl, Silver Shadow and Starjumper, as well as myself and Hound," Mirage offered information that he knew she wasn't expecting; valuable information in their line of work. An act of trust that Jazz had asked he play up as often as feasible with such 'little' gifts that didn't have an obvious answer in returned intel. It amused him to no end to be in the middle of and messenger for an Intel courting dance. He knew the principles, every SpecOps mech did, but making alliances and winning informants wasn't really something he did on his own. That was Jazz's talent.

"Bonded does not imply exclusive then," Mary cocked her head slightly with surprise brightening her optics.

"No," Mirage shook his head slightly. "A few bonded couples are, most are not. Sometimes one member is and one is not."

"Then there are triads, quads and more," Ironhide rumbled, just to make it that much harder on her.

"So, who should we avoid flirting with?" Dartmond's deep green optics glittered with mischief.

"Prowl, though more because you would be wasting your time than any objection Jazz may have," Mirage chuckled as he gave up more valuable, but unrestricted, intel mixed with a bit of gossip. "I'm fairly sure he never had intimacy protocols installed until Jazz talked him into it. Silver Shadow and Starjumper have been known to accept a lover now and then, but it's rare and it's always been a unit-mate, or for a mission. Everyone else on Earth, and most of those who may arrive, are available enough that flirting or a direct proposal will do no harm."

"Good to know," Mary made a thoughtful humm before walking into a building that briefly scanned each of them as they approached a set of automatic recessed doors large enough to permit Mary's weapon mode to walk through. "That was to confirm that you have clearance to be here. It's largely to keep the humans out, as this building is where we live. Half wake high-strung mechs and humans do not mix well."

"No they do not," Prime agreed from hard experience as he took in the simple design of the building they called home. It bore a great resemblance to his own base; quickly constructed, mostly re-purposed, left unfinished more often than not and with no real indication of who lived there.

"Where are the wash racks?" Ironhide suddenly asked. "Nothin's on the map."

"Attached to your quarters," Dartmond said with amused grin. "Most of us are from industrialized nations. Things like a private bathroom are very, very high on the list of luxuries we want."

"Particularly when you have so few that are still available," Mirage spoke with an even assurance of knowledge.

"Yes," Dartmond nodded a bit. "Food, clothes, bedding, touch..." she shook her head. "Showers might not be the same, but it's close enough to be nice. Especially for those of us who weren't Special Forces before all this."

"What were you?" Mirage asked politely.

"A freelance linguistics specialist. Whoever needed something translated could come to me for it. A couple dozen of us made up a network where at least one of us would know any given language involved. I did most of my work for universities and museums, some for governments and the occasional business. It's no longer a very useful specialty, though not as obsolete as I originally expected when I worked out we can just download a lingual packet and converse with anyone."

All three former humans stiffened and froze in the same moment, optics snapping to focus on Bloody Mary a nanoklik later as her expression went from annoyed to surprised to furious to something unreadable but unsettling.

"Dartmond, finish the tour," Mary turned to focus on Prime. "My apologies," her voice was as stiff as the rest of her frame as just managed to hold off the commands to transform. "Something needs my attention. I will be back before morning," she promised before lunging forward to land in weapon mode at a full run, DerRitter in alt mode right behind her.

"Did you catch the message?" Prime looked at Dartmond.

"Only that it happened. You learn fast around here not to decrypt what isn't meant for you," she said simply, a tiny trace of fear towards her leader showing through. "She hasn't killed anybody over it yet, but she's beaten a couple pretty bad. I rather prefer avoiding the shop when I can. Our 'medic' only knows marginally more than I do about fixing us," she added by way of reminder.

Three Cybertronians took a moment to assess both her statements about Bloody Mary and translate her lingual quirks.

"How would she likely take the offer of stationing one of our medics here until yours is suitably trained?" Prime asked diplomatically, his mind going to the results of a unit without a medic he'd seen over the vorn.

" _She'd_ love it," Dartmond smiled at him with no effort to hide how much she was hoping it would happen. "Do you have one with a less abrasive manner? I'm not sure _we'd_ survive Ratchet stuck on a base full of combat-trained kids with attitude issues."

Ironhide chuckled deeply. "Oh you would. You might not want to when he's done ranting, but you would."

Prime looked at his guard and weapon's specialist with a teasing glint in his optics. "Yes, but would all sides survive you training them?"

"Or our heavies training him," Dartmond snickered. "I saw your expression at what we've developed so far."

"Just how many of you were trained warriors before?" Ironhide asked, trying to get a feel for how the moves were founded.

"Mmm, all styles, probably twelve of sixteen," she decided as she stopped to show Prime the quarters assigned to him. "I think everyone had some level of training, whether from interest or military, but not everyone had more than a few classes."

Prime took a moment to look inside. A good-sized room with a few paintings of mountain or seascape decorated walls painted in the human-soothing shades of cream, blue, purple and deep red. A berth covered in a mech-safe versions of human bedding, a desk, two plush chairs and a small table.

"You did, however," Mirage said, half surprising Ironhide and eliciting a chuckle from Dartmond.

"Yes, I did," she inclined her head as the tour continued to Ironhide and Ratchet's quarters two doors down. "I briefly studied several styles until I found Choy Li Fut Kung Fu. I never trained to be a warrior, however. It has always been a method of last resort for me."

"Reasonable, for one who is not a warrior," Mirage stopped Ironhide's grumble. "It is an elegant style," he added after looking the form up on the internet. "You may find Cy-Kisn to your liking," he didn't even try to translate the name of the primary martial art of the Towers.

"I hope _you're_ offering, 'cause I don't teach Tower dancing," Ironhide growled at him.

"If arrangements can be made, I am," Mirage gave him a withering look learned in the Towers but perfected in the army. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order to convince Bloody Mary."

::Calm, both of you.:: Prime's displeased tone had the desired effect. "I will discuss it with her. She may not want the influence on developing culture."

Dartmond cocked her head at him, her expression unreadable beyond some curiosity.

"I'm not sure that's occurred to any of us," she finally said. "This place is already a melting pot to put the United States to shame."

"Perhaps," Prime consented. "Yet we have already seen the beginnings of a unique culture, combat style and weapons with less than a year. It is not wrong to wish to protect that."

She gave a nod of acknowledgment but little more to the idea. "Mirage, these are your quarters," she had him tap in the code unique to the room. He only gave it a brief look; it was simple for a permanent facility, but nicer than he actually expected. The same size as the other two rooms, but colored in the bright blues, greens and whites he preferred and the paintings were spacescapes.

An absent check told him this was indeed the same room he had been assigned each of his previous three visits and he smiled faintly that someone had gone to the trouble of modifying it to the preferences they knew about.

"Why is this one different?" Ironhide asked after peaking in over Mirage's shoulder.

"Mirage has been here a few times. The changes were made so he'd be more comfortable," Dartmond explained. "It's customary for regular visitors to have permanent quarters assigned and modified for them."

"So you're a regular here, hu?" Ironhide leveled his glare at Mirage.

"If four times qualifies, then yes," he refused to take the bait of the thinly veiled insult.

"Jazz, First Aid and Windsong also have permanent quarters," Dartmond spoke up as they moved on to the adjoining building and the recreation center.

"So Mirage could give this tour as well as you can?" Ironhide looked over at her.

"The maps and packet you downloaded can do that," she gave a shrug. "I doubt I can add much to it. It's considered polite to give VIPs a guided tour," she informed him calmly. "If you'd rather spend time on the firing range or sparring, you are welcome to," she said easily.

"Then I will," Ironhide nodded and stalked off towards the firing range.

::I can occupy myself looking around,:: Prime offered privately to Mirage and received a faint nod in reply. "I would like to look around myself," he turned to Dartmond. "Why don't you catch Mirage up on events since his last visit?"

She shot the spy a look, then smiled at Prime. "Have fun looking around." the smile turned to a near-feral grin as she slid her arm around Mirage's and headed back towards the living quarters.


	22. Skyfire Awakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfire awakens to a new world and more changes than he can comprehend.

Oblivion lessened. A distant sense of pain, of biting cold crept along the edge of his awareness. System errors began to scroll by closed and off-line optics too fast for sluggish processors to follow.

Then the numb, painless oblivion descended again.

Mumbled sounds, near words in unfamiliar voices beyond the darkness drifted in and out. Sometimes accompanied by distant pain, or sharp pain, but generally a Primus-blessed warmth.

Systems began to boot.

Slowly.

Only one at a time.

But no serious error messages.

"Skyfire?"

Yes. Skyfire was here.

He was on-line.

Or was that Primus and he'd finally permanently deactivated, his spark fleeing a frame that could no longer support it?

"Skyfire. Can you hear me?"

Send power to the vocalizer.

Organize a response.

Send response.

"..sss-y..sss."

That didn't sound right.

"Yezzzz."

"Good," the voice came back. Relieved, rough, but not the voice he wanted to hear so badly.

Maybe his memory files had been corrupted?

"Skkkywwarrp?"

A rush of air from vents, the shuffle of armor.

"No, I'm not Skywarp," the voice responded. "My designation is Ratchet. I am Physician to the Prime."

Oh yes, power to optics. See what is around. That would be useful.

Wait ... the _Prime_? Why would anyone that close to the Prime be out here?

At not quite a quarter power his optics began to report on the environment around him.

Ratchet was a mid-sized ground mech, bright yellow-green in color, with a permanently grim expression etched in his faceplates.

"Can you see?" Ratchet asked while Skyfire looked around the ill-equipped field base medical bay that reminded him more of a mechanic's den than a hospital fit for the Prime's personal physician.

"Yes," he managed to say clearly. "H-how long?"

Ratchet made a resigned sound. "We don't know. Probably nine to ten million vorns. A lot has happened while you've been in stasis."

"Skywarp?" he asked, more than a bit afraid of the answer.

"He's ... alive," Ratchet admitted. "At least by the last report I saw. He's lasted this long, he's probably survived the few vorns since I least heard about him."

"Broken?" Skyfire asked as he powered his optics to sixty percent and began to cautiously route power to other optional systems. "Like me?"

"He's not the mech you knew," Ratchet said softly. "The war has not been kind to him."

"Oh," Skyfire murmured, looking around for anyone else in the room.

"Prime wants to speak with you, but not until _I_ say you're ready for it," Ratchet scowled. "I know you're smart enough to realize you're in no condition to get up yet."

"Not for several orn, I expect," he murmured, powering down his optics and almost everything that wasn't needed in favor of diverting as much power as possible to self-repair systems. "What brought you this far out?"

"The war," he said with a venting sigh. "Cybertron's dead. This world is home now to the few that have survived."

Optics snapped to full power as soon as processors grasped that.

"Stay down!" Ratchet snarled and shoved the much larger mech down when Skyfire began to sit up. "Ten million vorns of war has done a number on _everyone_ who survived," he said firmly. "But we survived. You survived. Were there's life there's hope, and by Primus, we _are_ alive. Now settle down. When you cycle into recharge, I'll install a history program so you won't be at too much of a loss when you wake up and chat with Prime."

Skyfire cycled cool air harshly through his vents but didn't resist the order.

"Why ... why would _the Prime_ want to speak to _me_?" he managed to ask instead.

Ratchet looked down sympathetically. "He talks to all of us, Skyfire. There are that few of us left. We all know pretty much everyone's designations and specialties."

"Oh," he couldn't think of another reply. "I don't think I can cycle myself into recharge," he admitted quietly.

"You can think until you can, or I can put you into medical stasis until you're good to walk around," Ratchet offered with a gentle touch to the giant flier's shoulder.

"Will ... any chance Skywarp will be here when I'm on line again?" he asked as he powered down his optics again.

"I'm afraid not," he patted Skyfire's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Go ahead and put me in medical stasis," Skyfire decided with a sigh from his vents. "I'll be thinking for decaorn, if not metacycles, if you don't."

* * *

"How is he?" Prime asked as soon as Ratchet stepped out of the half-converted aircraft repair bay that served as Court Mont's med bay.

"Physically, he's doing well. All his processors seem intact and his memory banks are remarkably well intact," Ratchet reported, then scowled. "Breaking what Skywarp has become is going to be the hardest part. It's where we can lose him if he doesn't _fully_ grasp what the Decepticons are. The history program can only go so far without completely traumatizing him."

Before Prime could say anything, Ratchet scowled again as a comm ping demanded his attention. There was a too-long delay before his acceptance was answered, and the transmission was scratchy and low quality; human system quality.

::Ratchet, I need you free to work when we arrive.:: Bloody Mary's voice was unmistakable, and it wasn't hard to work out that she was stressed. ::A rescue and three casualties, one with serious damage.::

::How far out are you?:: his focus was instantly on her and the injured.

::Too far,:: came the first grim response. ::Ten hours.::

He jerked when he identified some of the background noise - why was she on an open comm in the first place? - as weapon's fire. ::What the _frag_ is going on?::

::Humans don't want to give up their prisoner,:: Mary said as a huge explosion went off. ::Cade! Get the hell back here. We're ... fine, but you're making your own way back!:: she roared over the battlefield noise. ::Ratchet. Just be ready when we land.::

::Ten hours? I'll meet you out there,:: he countered. ::Give me your path.::

Nothing but the battle, transformation sequences and snarled orders in English came through for a torturous moment.

::Tell Dartmond or Partrie authorization KILO MIKE ZULU nine six LIMA KILO one zero hyphen two and follow them.::

::Understood,:: Ratchet replied and cast a sensor sweep over the base to find either former human. "Mary's rescue mission has injuries," he explained to Prime as he called Ironhide to join him through their bond. "Get First Aid and Wheeljack here. She said she's ten hours out, but not if I can help it."

"Understood," Prime put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "We'll be ready to help when you bring them back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the RotF bios, Skywarp is the highly intelligent, somewhat lab-locked scientist of the Elite Trine. After reading that, I don't think any of us have the right to bitch about _fans_ making chars OOC. So I figured it made sense that he, and not Starscream, would be Skyfire's pre-war exploration/science partner.


	23. When Plans Go Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet gets quite an optic full when he meets up with Bloody Mary's team and their rescue.

::Where the frag are we going now?:: Ratchet growled at Dartmond when her sleek metallic blue Hyundai Tucson ix35 alt an abrupt sharp turn off the main expressway, followed by Partrie's charcoal gray 2008 Land Cruiser alt, then Ratchet and Ironhide.

::Abandoned airfield an hour away,:: Dartmond responded, her voice distracted as she listened to human communications traffic en mass. ::It's the current best meeting place between our locations.::

::And why do they keep moving the meeting point?:: he asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

Dartmond sighed over the open channel. ::They aren't clear of hunters. They're _trying_ to keep us out of a hotzone takeoff::

::Takeoff?:: Ratchet repeated, the word mixing with her earlier statement of an airfield.

He could sense her and communicating on a tightly secured channel that he couldn't easily breach, then silence for a nanoklik before she responded.

::Yes, takeoff.:: Dartmond's voice was subdued, uneasy. ::We ... Vannet, Nightcap, Shellshock, Partrie and myself ... can combine into a transport aircraft. You've been on board us before, when Mary went to your base.::

Then the silence of a comm line that wasn't expecting an intelligible response very soon.

Diplomatic protocols surged to the fore before his wartime field medic ones could snarl at her.

Snarling at an uneasy youngling was a bad idea.

::The Cybertronian term for that is a gestalt,:: he told them. ::Can you sense the others?:: he asked gently with honest curiosity.

::We shouldn't be talking about this,:: Partrie interrupted.

::He'd _see_ it soon enough.:: Dartmond hesitated.

::I'm a medic, a doctor,:: he reminded them, keeping his voice calm. It was odd, thinking of treating those who didn't accept that he could order them around. ::I'm going to be treating your gestalt-mates. I would be good for me to know how much bleed-over to expect for the rest of you.::

::None,:: Dartmond answered. ::Even linked up we have to intend to pass anything back and fourth.::

::That is unusual,:: he told them, partly curious, partly concerned.

::And _anything_ since we woke up a year ago _isn't_?:: she countered with a bemused laugh. ::Seriously, Ratchet. I don't think we're a gestalt. There are too many lingual artifacts carrying over that don't apply to us. Vannet had this bright idea after we found out about the whole 'scan a new form' trick. He suggested we scan a transport plane while hardlinked and _think_ about transforming into it together while the scan did its thing.::

::Were you a team before that?:: Ratchet asked, somewhere between disturbed by the description and fascinated by what happened when new sparks weren't given any clues as to their limitations and left to their own devices. He'd thought Nightshade was an exception, some fluke of hardware or programming since none of the other former humans pulled the same kind of stunts he did. But now he was talking to an entire _group_ that apparently had to work things out with no influence but themselves and suddenly Nightshade's odd weapon mode, insistence on making form changes on the fly - literally on occasion - and general disagreeable nature about being told something was too advanced for him didn't seem so odd.

It was, Ratchet realize abruptly as memory files of the NEST soldiers flashed by, completely _human_.

::None of us were even friends before this happened. Vannet was a civilian brush pilot. Partrie was a supply manager at Airbus. Nightcap and Shellshock were both military. Vannet just rounded up enough tonnage who were willing to give it a try and it worked.::

::I've never heard of that before,:: Ratchet admitted, his sensors focused on any possible enemies ahead or behind them.

::Or were-mechs either, or femmes that look like mechs,:: Dartmond commented, her attention more obviously distracted than his.

::Picking up anything?:: Ratchet asked.

::Not yet,:: she sounded grim. ::If they can't lose them before the airfield, it's going to be an ugly evac.::

* * *

"It's going to be an ugly evac," Dartmond said grimly as she crouched in the tree line near the abandoned dirt airfield with Partrie, Ratchet and Ironhide. "Five minutes and we'll be in range."

She didn't have to tell them, or at least not the Autobots Ratchet corrected his thoughts as his memory banks supplied that she had a more advanced sensor suite than Partrie. Ironhide had picked up the incoming hit-and-run battle nearly two breems before, and he'd detected it a breem ago.

"Ironhide," she got the old warrior's attention. "Target _this_ one if you can," she transmitted a set of movement blurred optic captures of a large gray mech that had to be crazy to be still in the hunt given the missing arm, deep cuts and blaster burns across its frame that were all fresh.

"Know'm?" Ratchet asked them all as the images were passed to him. He felt like he should know a designation to go with it, but if he had, it was no longer easily accessed.

"If I did, it's been relegated to archival files," Ironhide responded, his sensors at their limit to pick out just what, and who, was headed their way. "I count six unaligned mechs, Bloody Mary, two Cons and a dozen human vehicles, heavily armed."

Dartmond and Partrie's vitals shot up, snapping Ratchet's attention to the pair.

"Fuck," she hissed to herself.

"Look, don't shoot Cade," Partrie said quickly. "He defected."

"Cade?" Ironhide focused on them, putting their words together faster than Ratchet would have given him credit for. "The _**Decepticon** Barricade_?"

"Former," Dartmond insisted. "Answers to Mary now."

"Even if you don't believe us, don't shoot him _today_ , okay?" Partrie added with a hint of desperation. "He took damage getting that rescue out. He covered Mary's retreat. Let that buy him a pass for today."

"We'll need him to cover the takeoff," Dartmond added her reasoning.

~Hide, if he doesn't attack you or me, let him be,~ Ratchet put every ounce of authority he could, as the ranking officer and bonded. ~I don't like it, but _they_ are serious.~

~They're glitches to trust him!~ Ironhide ranged.

~Who said they trust him?~ he tried to make it sound less glitched than it likely was. ~How long does it take to trust a defector? They don't trust _us_ yet, and we never tried to obliterate their species.~

~You think too much,~ he grumbled. "All right. As long as he doesn't shoot at anybody I know, I won't shoot him _today_."

The former humans nodded, their systems calming slightly to pre-battle readiness.

"Don't you have weapons?" Ironhide stared at them as it registered that they didn't have any out.

"We aren't here to fight," Dartmond said simply. "We're here to make the plane."

Ironhide huffed but didn't say anything more, instead focusing on the Decepticon signatures that were rapidly approaching. Ratchet's focus was on the injured. He didn't have a perfect fix on what was nominal for these former humans, but he was sure every single mech on the mission had taken a beating. It was the one clutched tightly to Bloody Mary's chest plates that he was worried about. That one was in trouble.

The bear-mech burst out of the trees with little care for who she might startle and all but dumped the mess of two mechs in front of Ratchet before turning on heel and charging into the battle with a bass roar and Ironhide on her flank. One scan told the medic all he needed to know. The less injured of the two was another former human, one he hadn't encountered before, and her injuries were caused primarily by humans in a lab. The other was DerRitter with heavy battle damage.

A low rumble escaped his chest as he began the work of stabilizing his patients, though he couldn't help but give a little attention to the five bots, three with minor damage, who rushed into the open of the airfield. Without a sound or transmission between them the processes he was now determined to get a close look at when they returned to Court Mont began. Five mechs who were not designed as a combiner made the highly complex transformation into a small cargo jet.

a'Sombra was suddenly at Ratchet's side. "Can they be moved?"

"Into the plane, yes," he nodded and picked up the unknown femme as tall as he was but with less than half his mass, leaving Mary's bodyguard to take care of his partner. While he didn't comment, he noted than a'Sombra was carrying both their heavy riffles and wasn't in much better shape than DerRitter.

::Get on board!:: Vannet's voice sounded strained across the open broadcast as powerful engines roared to life and the Boeing 727 began to roll forward the moment the injured were on board.

~Move it, Hide!~ Ratchet snarled across their bond, taking the already moving transport as one that had no intention, and likely no option, to wait for stranglers covering the takeoff.

~Coming,~ he responded, only grudgingly giving up on a damn fine fight.

::Cade, get your aft on that jet or I'll throw you it in!:: Bloody Mary's snarl came over the open team comm a moment after Ironhide appeared, back to the transport as he continued to fire on the enemy while he fell back.

::Don't need to...:: Barricade's objection cut off with a startled yelp.

A klik later Ratchet followed Ironhide's amused gaze as the small black mech went sailing towards the rolling 727. Both mechs had to give him credit for landing in a roll that left him undamaged and darting up the lowered ramp. A klik later Bloody Mary's weapon mode hit the open and hurried Ironhide towards the ramp.

"Spare riffle," Barricade snapped in English, reached an arm backwards from where he knelt at the edge of the ramp. Without a word a'Sombra tossed him one of the two he carried and settled in on the other side of the ramp to cover Ironhide and Mary's retreat and the takeoff.

Ratchet turned his focus fully to his off line patients, cursing them out with his typical vitriol for the badly but not critically injured. He was aware of the liftoff, the thump of Ironhide and one of Mary's smaller modes getting on board in a hurry, then the growing quiet as the ramp closed and they made altitude.

With the loss of fluids stopped, he turned his attention to the tight space for seven mechs and ran several scans on a'Sombra to decide if he needed to get to the mech now or if he could wait until crawling over someone else wasn't required.

"I'll make it till we land," a'Sombra told him.

"Who's the medic here?" Ratchet snapped back on reflex, and found himself squaring off with a former human that wasn't the least bit cowed by him over Bloody Mary's alt and one of Ironhide's arm cannons.

"Please don't move if it can be avoided," Partrie's voice came from the open cockpit. "We're barely going to make it already."

"Damaged?" Ratchet swiveled his head to look towards the empty cockpit.

"Double load and low fuel," he explained. "Any movement in the hold means we have to expend fuel and energy to keep the wings level and altitude safe. If he _needs_ attention, go. If it can wait half an hour, please don't."

Ratchet grumbled and gave a'Sombra a deeper scan, then huffed. "He'll last that long."


	24. Clearing Cade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After landing at Court Mont, the Autobots have some pointed questions about Barricade, and Bloody Mary is anything but happy about it.

Barricade made himself small and nearly invisible in the shadows of the cargo bay before the ramp lowered for the Autobots and Mary's crew to exit. He was desperately hopeful that he'd be allowed to remain hidden until the Autobots had left the airfield. He wasn't afraid, exactly, but he wasn't stupid either. Even Megatron would hesitate to face the Prime, Ironhide, the Terror Twins and three lesser warriors alone.

No matter what Bloody Mary said about him being one of _hers_ now, that he no longer wore the Decepticon insignia, he firmly believed that she was a smart and pragmatic enough leader to turn him over to the Autobots, or even execute him herself in any manner demanded, if that was the price of alliance to the winners of the war. He wouldn't fool himself. She needed them more than she needed him.

Even with that, she was the kind of leader he'd always wished Megatron had remained. Smart, tactically minded, perfectly willing to dish out any punishment that would make a lesson stick, but not so randomly violent that you needed fear her rage if you didn't royally screw up. She'd yet to leave any doubt in anyone's processors what she expected or what a punishment was for. She ran a tight unit considering what she had to work with, yet within her laws, there was room for most everything he enjoyed. It was what Megatron had been like early on, before he's perpetually slipping grasp on sanity hit the critical point and he'd become nearly as dangerous to his own forces as the enemy.

"They're out of range," Partrie's voice was quiet in the otherwise empty cargo bay.

"Thanks," Barricade mumbled, the courtesies that didn't come easily to him still coming out. It paid to be polite to Bloody Mary's favorites. This too he'd learned quickly. This, the quiet protection of not telling him to leave until the coast was clear, was the reward for a few nice words here and there. It was sickening, but it was simple and it worked to his advantage. Hardly the worst thing he'd done in his existence to curry small favors.

::Make yourself scarce; stay within two joor,:: Bloody Mary commed him privately. ::I'm expecting questions. Don't invite them.::

::Understood,:: he responded immediately as he folded into his current alt and pealed away, headed for the main gate and open road. It wasn't much different from his last one, but Bloody Mary had insisted the small differences would blend in much better on the continent he now spent his time on.

* * *

Outside Court Mont's medical/primary machine bay Prime listened to Ironhide's report with a grim expression as much for the content as that it was delivered by secured comm line. In all, it was one of a successful rescue mission; everyone had gotten out and while there were three with serious injuries, no one was in actual danger of deactivation. There was just one sticking point; Barricade.

That the little Con had managed to get in that good with this group of former humans was worrisome to say the least. Even though he obviously hadn't managed to turn them against the Autobots, Ironhide left no doubt that they were trying to protect him. It was unsettling at best, deadly at worst. The deadly Con wasn't a Chief Intelligence Officer for nothing.

::It is possible that Barricade is simply trying to survive the end of the war,:: Mirage joined in the conversation, surprising both mechs. ::Megatron is dead, as are most of the other Cons on Earth. Even though they hold Cybertron, it won't last long. Tactically, it's a smart move. This group does not have a personal grudge against him. It would give him a chance to adapt to the new rules with less scrutiny, and give him someone that might be willing to intercede on his behalf with you. He has clearly accomplished the later.::

::It is possible,:: Prime conceded to the noble. ::Please keep this quiet until I have discussed it with Bloody Mary. I do not want a hunt for him going on without her agreement.::

::All right, Prime,:: Ironhide rumbled unhappily. ::I hope he had the sense to get off base, given he hid from you.::

::Of the many things I can say of Barricade, stupid or lacking survival sense are not among of them,:: Prime said grimly before a commotion in the med bay drew their attention.

Ratchet's voice was raised and ramping on into one of his infamous triads, shifting between Cybertronian, English, German, Russian, French and two dialects of Spanish in response to whatever was going on inside.

" _ **Enough**_!" Bloody Mary's roar drowned out even Ratchet and created a moment of deathly still silence that spread well beyond the converted maintenance hanger.

::Well, I know who the ones without common sense are,:: Ironhide commented dryly as the bulk of those in sensor range beat a hasty retreat while Dartmond and two humans moved in fast enough to find out what was up, but not so fast as to draw the attention of those yelling.

::She _is_ Intel,:: Mirage said dryly, one side of his lip components quirking upwards at the surprise evident in the other two mechs. ::She's learning fast, but she has no idea how to recognize, much less stop, a skilled probe into her processors.::

::Who else has she not told us the truth about?:: Prime kept his expression neutral for any of those who weren't Autobots who were watching.

::Oh, they told the truth about everyone I've had a chance to check out,:: Mirage gave him something of a bemused smile. ::Do keep in mind what you already know Bloody Mary is. She'll never voluntarily give away who the agents are, no more than Jazz would. Her only lies that I know of have been by omittance.

::All right, who else is Intel?:: Prime insisted. ::Who is _dangerous_?"

::Mycrin is the only other with an Intel background, though she was never in the field. She had some kind of data intensive desk job. She's less of a danger to us than Blaster is to the Cons. As for who's dangerous, most of them are,:: Mirage tipped his head in something of a shrug. ::What they lack in experience and training, most seem to more than make up for in tenacity and spontaneous ideas.::

::Like dealing with a base full of Jazz?:: Ironhide snorted with amusement and a bit of horror at the idea.

Mirage gave him a faintly amused smile. ::Jazz is not that difficult to predict once you get to know him. These are more like crossing Jazz's spontaneity with a human's thought processes.::

::In short, chaos personified,:: Ironhide harrumphed.

::Under the guidance of someone who definitely has a plan for them and this world and knows how to manipulate them better than any of us could,:: Mirage countered. ::Bloody Mary may be young, but she is as focused as any campaign tactician I've met, and nearly as skilled as Smokescreen at what she's doing. Remember, they may be in Cybertronian frames, but these are still humans in upbringing.::

::Just how good is your information?:: Prime focused on the spy.

::Quite good, Prime,:: he answered easily. ::She had no more experience keeping me out of her processors than Dartmond. Details are few, but her basic intent was clear.::

::What, exactly, do you know of her plans?:: Prime was suddenly uneasy. Out of the corner of one optic he saw Mary's weapon mode exit Ratchet's domain on all fours and turned to view her more closely, making notes to himself about the differences between it and Nightshade's. Despite that both were meant, as Nightshade liked to phrase it, as walking weapons of close-quarters mass destruction and he'd describe as an ill-tempered unstoppable force, there were still marked differences between them to his optic.

There was size of course; Bloody Mary had a solid twenty percent more mass and head and shoulders on height. Nightshade's muzzle was notably longer but Mary's head was broader. Mary's tail was almost non-existent while Nightshade's was long and thick. Nightshade's legs and gate were longer as well; despite her overall smaller size she was by far the faster of the pair. But it was how they carried themselves they really struck the Prime. Nightshade, when she was confident, was an act of violence looking for an excuse to happen. Mary had an almost elegantly sensual kind of self-control even in this mode, something that only increased in the base mode that Nightshade strongly preferred to avoid.

::One still embraces her humanity. The other is doing her damndest to forget it.:: Ironhide commented as Bloody Mary stood into the transformation sequence to base mode.

"Prime, Ironhide, Mirage," she greeted them politely despite the tension in her frame. "Would you mind filling me in on the extra mechs?" she asked Prime.

"My apologies for acting without your agreement," Prime inclined his head slightly and was internally pleased when she settled a bit, accepting the honest apology for what it was. "When Ratchet left, he demanded that First Aid and Wheeljack be here to assist with the injured. I judged that anything that could cause enough damage for you to call for backup and a hot evac would be a danger if it followed you here. Thus the other warriors. Bluestreak and the Protectobots came with their bonded to reinforce your defenses.

"To protect those that matter to them," she nodded slightly, then glanced at Mirage. "Hound is here then."

"No," Mirage shook his head slightly. "He prefers to be absent when I'm on assignment."

More than a little to Prime and Ironhide's surprise, Mary nodded with seeming understanding - which put her ahead of both Autobots.

"Speaking of being filled in on unexpected mechs," Prime paused at the resigned look that flicked across her features for a fraction of a nanoklik. "How did Barricade come to Court Mont?"

"He made a nuisance of himself until I sent Dartmond, Shellshock and Nightcap to deal with him," she motioned them to follow her towards her office several buildings away. "They came back escorting a black Bobbie car from the US instead of a body. He asked for asylum in exchange for anything he could do for me. I agreed on the condition that he remove all markers of being a Decepticon," she looked at Ironhide with clear expectation.

"He did," he admitted reluctantly as they entered the relatively small but heavily reinforced building. As much as he wanted to see the Con deactivated, he wasn't going to lie about that. It was too easy to check.

"He's been good to his word to date, and I intend to keep mine as long as he does," she leveled a look at Prime that spoke of bad things to happen if he pressed the issue too much as they rode an elevator down nearly three hundred feet.

"He's murdered..." Ironhide began only to find cold golden optics locked on him with a killer's intent.

"And just how many Cons, my dear, loyal Autobot soldier, have _you_ killed in the name of your cause?" she literally dared him as the elevator doors opened as she strode out. "He's dangerous, he's not loyal to me and he's got one hell of an attitude. He's also saved my life twice, is the only reason that rescue didn't turn into a slaughter or worse and he obeys orders for the most part."

Ironhide couldn't help the derisive noise that escaped his vocalizer.

Mary glared at him before tapping in the codes to her office. "When it doesn't involve some variant of retreat. You're going to have to do a lot better than him being an enemy combatant to have me turn over someone who's done their part on an asylum request."

"You're a spy by training," Ironhide stared at her as a thick black liquid was dispensed into a mug from a large water-cooler like device in the corner of her relatively simple but pleasant office.

"Have you ever asked Jazz the important points when turning an asset?" She cocked her head at him. "I'm afraid we don't have the energon to offer, but if you'd like to try our home brew, we like it."

"Proving you're good for your word," Prime answered evenly.

"What is it?" Mirage asked, his curiosity peaked. He'd turned down offers before, but it seemed that they really were serious about drinking the dark stuff.

"A mixture of petrol, jet fuel and oil with minerals to taste," Mary explained easily and poured a small shot glass worth as a sample. "I like a bit of spice, most prefer a sweeter mix. Nine variants are kept in stock right now. This was fuel before we learned how to make energon. Now it's more casually consumed."

Ironhide took the offered sample and downed it.

"Not bad, but not high grade," he decided as all four sat down.

* * *

Ratchet let a rush of air out of his vents and scanned the half-converted aircraft repair hanger turned med bay. Prime and Bloody Mary had been successfully ejected some time before, though as expected she'd taken far more effort than he had. His four remaining patients were all stable and resting under various levels of sedation. The other injuries had been dealt with and sent on their way. First Aid was finishing cleaning up, Wheeljack was resting on a makeshift berth in the back, Vannet was happily going over a datapad filled with translated medical texts and the other two Court Mont mechanics had disappeared the moment they'd been turned loose.

His frame settled and taunt cables relaxed slightly.

Time to join Prime, Ironhide and Mirage in the odd conference with Bloody Mary.

* * *

"Mary, what is wrong?" Prime asked when she twitched for the fourth time in less than a joor.

"Your wolf is fidgety," she sighed and settled in her chair, the glass in her hand half full with an oil and fuel mixture the local group favored. "Every time she brushes against the border it sends a shockwave through my system demanding attention," she explained and took a lingering sip from her mug. "If she doesn't cut it out I'm going to be obliged to go beat some courtesy into her."

"I'll talk to him," Prime said as he linked into the NEST communications grid. ::Nightshade, respond.::

::Yes, Sir?:: her tone was respectful, but there was no hiding the agitation behind it.

::Increase the distance you are keeping from Europe. You're agitating Mary bumping up against the border, as she put it.::

Silence for a moment.

::Sorry,:: Nightshade replied just before Prime prompted her for a response. ::Between you there, Jazz and Hound down south and the Twins ripping something apart in India, I guess I'm a little more on edge than I expected. I'll back off twenty miles.::

::Thank you.:: He said. "She's backing off twenty miles," Prime told Mary, and got a small but honest smile out of her for it.


	25. The Jaguar's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz, Hound, Blurr and Perceptor go looking for Fire Lord deep in the Amazon.

"Remin' me again how we'r gonna find this Fire Lord?" Jazz asked as Hound lead them through the dense rain forest far from where modern humans went. Trees around them were large enough for him to move through, but for now he remained on the ground behind Hound and Perceptor and in front of Blurr. Well, sometimes in front of the hyperactive racer.

"We aren't," Hound said easily, his attention on the jungle and nearby river as he replied in the Latin American Spanish they'd downloaded as the most likely local dialect. "We set up camp, make ourselves obvious and she'll find us. At least that's what both Shade and Mary say is the best, fastest, least dangerous way."

"Make ourselves obvious, great," the First Lieutenant grumbled, though he'd known it going in. This entire conversation was for those watching them. "So how far to camp?"

"Less than a mile," Hound responded, glancing back to make sure Perceptor was doing all right. He smiled at the scientist's undisguised fascination with everything around them. He'd forgotten how much Perceptor enjoyed fieldwork. "There are some ancient human settlement ruins that will make a good site. The satellite images indicate they visit it periodically."

Of course he didn't need to say it. Everyone on the mission had read the reports and seen the pictures. Jazz had been the one to compile that report with Prowl. As much as they would have both preferred to have a different team going, there was no telling when Ratchet and Mirage would be back from Europe, or when Trailbreaker or Blaster would arrive on Earth, if they would. So he and Hound would just have to do the best with who they had.

Though he didn't show it and doubted he could prove it, Jazz was positive they were being watched, tracked by someone who knew how to hide in this environment. It set him even more on edge than knowing that they were trying to provoke a very secretive individual with a weapon form like Nightshade's. While not as suicidal as his attacking Megatron at Mission City, it ranked up there with the crazier things he'd done in his very long life.

::Jazz I'm sure I saw a fela-mech, a big one, too big to be Ravage, in the trees.:: Blurr told him on a highly encrypted short range comm.

::I sensed it,:: he agreed. ::It's likely Fire Lord's alt. Don't try to get close.::

::I can catch her.:: the racer insisted, eager for action and completely out of his element in these tight confines.

::I'm sure you would. Then her weapon mode would tear you to shreds without a second thought,:: Jazz reminded him. ::She'll come to us soon. We're here to talk, not anger.::

::I am _so_ not for this mission,:: Blurr let out an audible sigh from his vents, his turbines humming in agitation.

::I know,:: Jazz apologized. ::This isn't a mission I'd have chosen for you if I had many options.::

Blurr made a turbine hum of understanding and acceptance with the large fans on his frame and lowered their power to reduce his noise in the otherwise silent party. He wasn't entirely sure how, but he managed not to go crazy at the pace or go after any of the three forms tracking them when Hound finally called a halt.

"Here we are," the tracker grinned, delighted to be the first to see something so remote.

"All right mechs. Set camp and settle in," Jazz called out. He barely managed to finish before Blurr had everything in place, from the communications relay to the shelter from the daily rain and the parameter grid.

* * *

"When do you think one of them will come out?" Blurr asked with careful casualness when they'd been doing nothing but hanging out for almost forty-eight hours. They had all downloaded the local dialect of Spanish and stuck to that for verbal communalization in the hope that it would encourage Fire Lord or one of her mechs to come out and talk to them.

"When they're sure we're here to talk," Jazz shrugged and relaxed in a hammock-like device, reading a datapad of area news from the past year. Unlike Nightshade and Bloody Mary, Fire Lord seemed to have a dislike for humans, or at least towns and small cities. It didn't take Prowl's battle computer to know that there had been _far_ too much destruction since Fire Lord had come on line, but not one bit of it could be tied to anything unnatural, much less Cybertronian. "At least Hound and Perceptor are enjoying the outing. Why don't you take a run on the river?"

Jazz smiled at the breeze and near-instant absence of the racer. He wasn't well suited for this kind of mission, but no one and nothing could catch him once he got going. If things went south, they'd need him to get help.

It also had the advantage of leaving him alone without making it look intentional. If they were going to make a move, it was most likely now.

* * *

Hound was happily watching Perceptor gather samples when his olfactory sensors warned him of an unfamiliar mech nearby. He barely managed to shout a reflexive warning to the scientist-sniper before his systems crashed in an emergency stasis shutdown.

"Hound!" Perceptor shouted as he turned in time to see the tracking specialist collapse, his optics black and frame completely limp before he hit the soft ground. One step forward and strong hands grabbed him; one around his body and one over his mouth. A large frame pressed against his back and the hiss of a vent was close to his audio. His comm was blocked when he tried to call for help.

"Be quiet, wise one," a low, heavy accented growl against his audio receptor froze him on reflex. "We do not wish to hurt."

Perceptor nodded slightly, his spark beating frantically with every system powered up for a combat that wasn't to come. He calmed slightly at the answering pulse from his bonded. Still too far away too offer anything but moral support and a promise of eventual rescue if need be, but much closer than he had been the last time they'd reached for each other. Further calm came when his higher functions asserted that he had not been damaged and had been told they did not wish to do so.

The hand moved cautiously away from his mouth, though he was still held tightly.

"Hound?" Perceptor dared a whispered question and looked pointedly at the tracker while being careful not to pull away from the strong hands that held him.

"Not hurt," the rough voice assured him. "Move. The river."

Perceptor nodded again and complied, careful with his steps guided from behind by the mech who still had a firm hold on him. Even this far upriver the Amazon was wide and fast, but it didn't seem to matter to the mech behind him as he was pressed forward, into the swift current and thick mud of the bottom. He did his best to focus on movement and the discoveries as they became completely submerged, his vents and cooling systems adapting without problem to the thicker medium coming in.

He felt Blurr pass above them, running on the river's surface, but his reflexes were nowhere what would be required to get the racer's attention, so he did not try. There was no point in angering his captor with an action that had no chance of succeeding. Twelve point six one three miles upriver of their camp and he was directed out of the muddy water.

Energy field sensors picked up the presence of four mechs without designation or faction signature before the muddy water had cleared from his optics to confirm that he was now barely two lengths from another were-mech's weapon mode, this one based on a jaguar. Flanking her were two normal looking mechs, the fourth above and beyond them with a heavy riffle leveled at him. They were all in shades of black, brown, green and muted yellows with very limited splotches of color. Perfect jungle camouflage.

"Autobot Perceptor," Fire Noble managed not to butcher either word in Cybertronian too badly before switching to the same heavily accented Latin American Spanish that the mech behind him had used. It was an accent that Perceptor could not identify. "We have heard you come in peace. We have heard you have come to speak with me. I am listening."

He blinked his optics, surprised into silence for a moment as it sunk in that the _talkers_ of this team were not the ones who would be talking.

"I am not the best..."

"That is the point," a slow, languid smile spread across her wide muzzle as she settled to lay down as Nightshade did in alt mode. It brought her optics nearly level with his own. "You must make the case, not the smooth speaking one."

After another moment of shock and Perceptor launched every subroutine he had related making a proposal presentation and teaching. Arguing for an alliance could not be that different from arguing for funding for a project and teaching this group what they needed to know was critical.

"First, would you tell me how much contact you have with the others? It would be useful to know what you are already aware of so not to repeat it," he relaxed his systems and settled in for a long, hard debate.

"Enough to know where they are, that you are allied with Death Bringer who patrols north of here, how to make energon and that what has happened to us occurred all across the world," she gave him the quick summary.

He inclined his head slightly, buying himself a moment to organize his thoughts and facts. "What do you wish to be called?"

"My name is Xipil," she seemed to smile slightly when he repeated it flawlessly.

Perceptor, however, was mildly annoyed that he was being blocked from all communication, including the internet, to look up what language her name was in. It was so much better to speak in an individual's native language. But he would do his best with what he had until he had built up enough good will to ask for access.

* * *

Hound struggled every nanoklik against the paralysis; the darkness and still that claimed his frame and sensors. His processors were fully functional, but nothing of his body would respond. Only the automatic systems that kept him functional were running.

~Hound?~ the noble he was bonded to felt ready to panic despite the intense arousal that also raced across the now fully open bond.

~Attacked, processors are on, frame's not responding at all. No error messages, so I'll recover,~ he grumbled. ~Sorry,~ he added a moment later when it sunk in that his bonded was probably being someone's first interface right now. ~Didn't mean to disturb you.~

~Do not _dare_ apologize for letting me know you have been attacked,~ Mirage was now focused fully on his bonded, the intense arousal fading quickly from his systems. ~What happened?~

~I was watching Percy gather samples and felt a mech without a faction signal come up behind me. I didn't even get a chance to warn him before systems were shutting down. I didn't see or feel hitting the ground, though I'm sure I'm laying there now. Unless I've been moved. I can't tell.~

~Prime said that he can't raise anyone on your team,~ Mirage's concern deepened. ~The entire area is under a communication blackout ... Blurr just came out of the blackout. He should be to your last known location momentarily.~

~I won't be able to tell,~ Hound grumbled. ~It's most likely the mechs we were sent to look for, Fire Lord's crew. It wasn't a Con. Good to know they didn't get Blurr. Can Prowl contact Jazz?~

There was a long pause while Mirage communicated with Prime or someone else.

~Prowl says that Jazz is fine. They didn't go after him, but Perceptor was not with you. It seems that capturing him was the purpose of the attack. Blurr indicated that there was no sign of battle or serious damage around you.~

~Percy's a good sniper, but his best weapon is still his IQ,~ Hound chuckled as he felt the first bit of response code from his body. ~I seem to be coming out of paralysis.~

~Jazz and Blurr will be with you at the camp,~ Mirage passed on what Prime told him of what Prowl was passing on from Jazz. ~You're safe.~

* * *

Blurr was twitchy, forced to move slowly as Hound did his thing, tracking their missing comrade by a combination of scent and instinct.

~We're being watched,~ Jazz warned both his companions by touch, not trusting even short range encrypted transmission.

~That means we're on the right trail,~ Hound smiled to himself at being right. The locals had done an unusually good job in hiding their trail, forcing Perceptor to travel under the river and using their knowledge to high effectiveness in making the tracking difficult. They couldn't conceal the small scent of Cybertronian oil and lubricants that carried on the moist winds and Hound counted on it remaining that way. ~Still no energon or internal fluids.~

~What could they want him for to take him like this? It doesn't make sense,~ Blurr was objecting.

~Given the history in the Americas of what happens when outsiders show up, it actually does,~ Jazz told him, his tone subdued. The stories still haunted him at times. He couldn't blame anyone of native heritage for being distrustful, even downright hostile. Still, they had not harmed Perceptor as far as they could tell, and the harm to Hound was less than what a friendly sparring match would create. More stressful, but once the chemicals had been processed in his system, they did not seem to have any lingering effects.

If they managed this alliance, he _had_ to get that formula. So fast acting with no real side effects; the applications for his team were nearly endless.

Hound abruptly looked up, startled into stillness by the green and brown mech standing only half a pace in front of him.

"Hello," the tracker remembered to use the local Spanish variant.

"Come," the large mech spoke, the word grating on vocals unaccustomed to speaking it. "Hound, Jazz, Blurr," he locked his gaze on each as he spoke their name in a heavily accented Cybertronian, though he did manage not to mangle their designations too badly.

Without waiting for a reply he turned and walked into the jungle.

"After him," Jazz said quickly, taking the lead from Hound without hesitation. The trek wasn't long, barely three miles, though it was nearly dark when they heard Perceptor's distinctive vocals explaining interfacing as only he could.

::He actually managed to make it sound not fun,:: Hound chuckled.

::He's far better in practice,:: Blurr commented.

::Do I want to know how you know that?:: Hound glanced back at the racer.

::He _is_ bonded,:: Blurr laughed. ::I served with him and Drift in Kup's unit for a time. Neither show it but just like Prowl they are both very passionate behind the self-control. I'm sure you'll get an audio full when Drift gets here in a few decacycles.::

::I think I'm going to plan a _long_ exploratory trip into the mountains,:: Hound shuddered.

::Hush,:: Jazz chided them. ::Focus on our hosts.::

"Greetings Jazz, Hound, Blurr," the huge feline weapon mode spoke in careful Cybertronian as she stood with lazy, lethal grace.

All four Autobots suddenly felt the uneasiness familiar to them from Nightshade's weapon mode, only it was the full, unmitigated threat that Megatron gave off.

"Whoa," Jazz breathed out, even his systems put on edge at it. It wasn't enough to cause any of them to bolt or break off an attack, but it was damn unnerving.

~Love?~ Prowl was with him instantly, offering support, tactical plans and a buffer against the code demanding fear of a potent killing machine.

~I think we can safely say the weapon mode fear-aura is a frame-type standard,~ Jazz commented as he forced his systems to settle down from pre-battle readiness. ~She just stood up. Not threatening at all. Apparently she wanted to talk to Perceptor without us for a while. He's fine. Was talking up a storm when we arrived.~

"This is Xipil," Perceptor spoke up, his smile one of absolute delight. "She's a native to one of the tribes that has survived with very minimal contact with the outside world. She's told me so much about uses for the jungle life. It seems that they don't have the same issues that the others have had. Yara," he motioned to a lanky water-blue femme as tall as Hound. "Even agreed to a scan, and their assessments of their condition is correct. They do not have the energy depletion or unrepaired damage, though they have listened to methods we use. Oh, and I uploaded Cybertronian for them, so they understand us just fine. Vocalizations are coming along nicely."

Even as he passed all that on to Prowl to tell Ratchet and Prime, Jazz had to contain a frown. "Do you know how?" he looked between Perceptor and Xipil.

"We," Xipil motioned to the five mechs and femmes around her. "Are all part of this land. We all understand and support it, and in turn it supports us."

Jazz looked around the six members of the South American contingent and did a little math. "Were all your followers raised to live with the land?"

"Yes," Xipil rolled her right shoulder. "Those who are not able to live within the tribe do not survive."

::That's a nod,:: Perceptor interpreted for them. ::She confirmed that three mechs and a femme did not make it. There are no bodies left.::

Jazz mimicked her shoulder roll perfectly. "If you find another who does not suit your ways, perhaps we can take them in," he suggested diplomatically. "We have adopted many into our tribe."

"I will take it under consideration," Xipil tilted her head slightly before smoothly lowering herself to all fours to come as close to optic level as she could with Jazz. "You may go home now. Perceptor will be protected and cared for as my guest."

::Please,:: Perceptor nearly begged. ::I trust them to do so. What they are sharing with me is invaluable.::

Jazz gave Perceptor a look, then focused on the giant killing machine before him. "Would you please remove the communications barrier? I will not leave a tribe-mate when I have no way to communicate with him."

Xipil gave him a scathing look but turned her head to look into the dense jungle behind her. "Paco, work it out."

A sound, a voice speaking in a language Jazz didn't have, preceded a medium-sized golden-brown mech with unusually large sensor wings. Paco approached while she shifted to turn her attention back to Perceptor.


	26. A Deadly Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jolt has had a long, boring and anxiety filled journey to join Prime on Earth. So when he arrives and finds himself face to face with a large bestial Transformer with no faction insignia and an EM field entirely too much like Megatron's, his reaction is understandable.

::Acknowledged, Jolt out,:: the newest arrival to Earth's near space closed the hailing frequency and altered his course to the requested landing coordinates. His sensor grid, while hampered by his space travel form, detected a Cybertronian in the air with an intercept course for his landing location, but as it answered with 'Autobot Ally' to his ID ping he gave it no further thought and focused on his landing.

Landing, crashing really, on the softened earth of the barren landing zone was gentler than most worlds, which also meant he had a deeper crater to climb out of. He was early, not by much, but enough he wasn't all that surprised that no one hailed him as he climbed out of the small crater.

On pure reflex he froze when an EM field brushed against his that had his neural net screaming that he was about to look up to face Megatron. Armor clicked into place and electro-whips flared to life. Before he'd even thought he leapt up and lashed out with both whips, connecting with the giant ... whatever ... solidly.

It roared in pain as he twisted to land and get his first real look at his opponent.

Not Megatron, but nearly as large, painted in matte finish browns and black with a form he could only describe as alien and monstrous.

He leapt and lashed out with his whips again, catching the monster across the face before it did the unthinkable and snapped its head around to close it's huge jaws around both electro-whips and bit down. Feedback warned him they were both damaged, though not badly so. He charged his armor as the monster swung him around and into the soft dirt.

::Cease and Desist!:: Prowl's icy voice demanded over his comm as the monster slammed one hand down on top of Jolt to hold him still.

::Power down armor,:: a vaguely femme-like and decidedly pain-filled voice demanded on the open channel.

::Jolt. Stand down.:: Prime spoke this time, and his order was as much an ill-tempered demand as Jolt had ever heard from the Matrix-Bearer.

As much as he didn't want to, it wasn't in him to disobey such a direct order from the Prime. Barely a nanoklik after the charge was absorbed back into his system the hand lifted from him and the monster moved back.

::How much damage?:: Ratchet sounded even more pissed than usual, and the monster dropped all but flat to the ground and whined, it's mobile sensor horns swiveling down and back.

It was enough to stop Jolt from responding for a moment too long, and he abruptly found himself hauled to his pedes by a scowling Prowl.

"Whips damaged, minor impact damage," he finally got his processors in order to answer Ratchet.

The medic nodded and turned to glare at the monster. "Nightshade?"

"Electrical systems are glitchy," she, it was definitely a she, responded as she looked up without moving her head. "It hurt more than it damaged."

"You will explain why you attacked Jolt," Prime leveled his gaze on the monster ... Nightshade ... and it whined pathetically as a transformation sequence left it even more animal-like, and even smaller than Ravage.

The apparent mass change made Jolt jerk in surprise.

"That ... that's an Autobot?" Jolt glanced at Prowl while Ratchet knelt to check out the strange being.

"No," Prowl's voice was level as ever, his optics on the cowering mechanism Ratchet was examining. "She is an ally, a native of this world, created from a human by the Allspark as it was destroyed. One of many."

"Oh," he managed to look away as it registered what he'd done. How was he supposed to know? She didn't have an Autobot insignia, didn't actually say anything to him about stopping.

"He attacked me," Nightshade's voice was small, mirroring her efforts to try and disappear into the ground. "I didn't actually _attack_ him. Just pinned him down."

Jolt worried his lower lip plate as he took in the scene. This Nightshade might be an ally, but it seemed that she received even less benefit of the doubt than Sunstreaker and Sideswipe when it came to who started a fight. Warranted or not, this time it _wasn't_ her fault.

"Lord Prime, may I speak?" Jolt fell into the most formal manners he knew.

"Of course, Jolt," Prime shifted his focus to the newest arrival.

"She's telling the truth, Prime," he admitted uneasily. "Her EM field is a lot like Megatron's to me. I didn't check before I attacked."

Prime nodded and shifted his attention to the cowering canine alt mode. "Why were you in weapon mode?"

"Didn't know what it was," she answered submissively. "Thought it was Autobot, but could have been Con, natural or alien. Just being careful."

Prime nodded and looked at Ratchet. "She is fit to run back to base with us?"

"As long as you don't break a hundred," the medic agreed.

"Transform and roll out!" Prime ordered as he did so.

It gave Jolt his first good look at the current alt modes of his compatriots, even as he heard Ratchet warn Nightshade to _run_ , not roll or fly to keep up with the convoy. It was all a lot to think about as he drove in his place near the middle next to Nightshade's small alt mode. The drive was slow to him, even if they were breaking local speed and traffic laws according to the databurst of regulation updates Prowl sent him.

* * *

Jolt screeched to a halt when they entered the strange base's main gate and a pair of vehicles, one glossy red and one bright yellow, roared up to them with complete disregard for the formation, that Prime was there or seemingly anything else.

"There's our Wolfie!" Sideswipe cheered as he transformed and rushed in and swept Nightshade up in his arms.

The small alt squawked in surprise, but didn't seem to make any other objection as the infamous Terror Twins encircled her, clicking and cooing as they made their own inspection that she wasn't badly injured.

"Enough, le'me down!" Nightshade finally demanded after almost a full klik. The pair subjected her to one more cuddle before Sunstreaker stepped back and Sideswipe shifted his grip so she could jump to the ground with a reasonable amount of dignity. "What was that all about?" she looked up at them, still in alt mode.

"We heard you were attacked," Sunstreaker said with an openly threatening glare for Jolt.

"Mutual misunderstanding," she countered and finally transformed to base mode to draw their attention away from the smaller neon blue mech who'd taken a subtle form of refuge behind Ratchet and Prowl. "He thought I was Megs, and I didn't think to announce myself as Autobot in weapon mode."

The twins huffed and clicked in displeasure.

"If you two are done confirming your newspark is alive and well, he's coming with me," Ratchet literally dared the pair to contradict him.

From what Jolt could see, they were both close to doing just that until Nightshade whacked their shoulders lightly.

"Really you two," her voice, now as mech as her frame, teased them. "It's just a couple electrical burns. I broke his whips. We're quite even. I'll see you on the sparring field when Ratchet turns me loose again. He can mother hen with the best of you."

All three mechs sighted sputtered, causing Nightshade to laugh brightly, and even Prime chuckled a bit.

"Come on you two," Ratchet decided to end the debate by grabbing them, each in one hand, and stalking towards his domain with an amused former human and bewildered Cybertronian in tow.

When they were safely out of audio range, Jolt glanced up at the larger mech. "Umm, thanks. For not telling them everything."

"No problem," Nightshade smiled down at him. "It's one thing if you knew me and did that. No reason for you to get hurt when you thought you were defending yourself," he shrugged. "They're just a little on the over-protective side sometimes."

"Prowl said you were a human ... but you're their newspark?" Jolt dared asked.

"Oh, that," Nightshade actually rolled his optics. "Yeah, I guess I'm a sparked warrior, so those two took it on themselves to make sure no one picked on me for it."

"Oh," Jolt's optics widened a bit as he realized just how bad that could have been. Those two were well known to be vicious over nothing ... but in defense of a charge not a sixth a metacycle old? He shuddered at the thought of what it turn into. He definitely owned his thanks to her.

"They're good guys, Jolt," Nightshade's voice dropped in volume as they entered the medbay. "A little on the violent side..." she was interrupted by Ratchet's snort.

"The entire _army_ knows about those two. Temper, pranks, berth-hopping, violence and all," the medic retorted. "Now since you have the actual damage, on the berth and shut down. Replacing fried circuits is not something even _you_ get done on-line."

Nightshade grumbled but obeyed, and a moment later Ratchet had him in medical stasis lock.

"Ratchet?" Jolt asked quietly from the next berth over where he was sitting. "What's with humans turning into Cybertronians?"

"The Allspark did it just before it melted Megatron to slag. They come in two kinds; normal ones that can pass for one of us once they learn the language and brush up on history, then there are ones like him," he motioned to the still mech on the berth.

"Wait, Prowl said Nightshade was a femme," Jolt reset his optics in confusion.

"Yeah, Nightshade's a real piece of work," Ratchet snorted again as he went to work. "Alt and weapon modes prefer to answer to 'she' but base prefers 'he'," he shook his head. "A warrior sparked with a base coding I can't even begin to work out, but the humans call 'canine'. He acts almost normal in base mode, when you can get him to stay in it for any length of time. The rest of the time she's not that difficult, you just have to know the protocols she's running under. I'll give you the file when I check you out."

"Thank you," Jolt inclined his head and watched his mentor in the medical field work his magic on a frame that looked perfectly normal, even if they both knew full well it wasn't.

"You'll need it," Ratchet vented a sharp gust of air. "If you can manage to put her flat on her back in weapon mode you'll do even better. Like Ironhide and the Twins, she respects speed and strength a bit too much. Just make sure you do it either in here or on the practice field so her guardians don't get on you for it, overprotective glitches, the both of them. Ironhide too, though he understands reason."

"Who else does she respond quickly too?" Jolt asked quietly, his optics and sensors locked on Nightshade's internals and the work being done.

"Me, Prime, Whiplash, Jazz and Prowl, in that order. I expect she'll bow to Drift, Ultra Magnus and Grimlock when they arrive and have a turn with her on the field.

"The Allspark also created eleven ones like her," he motioned to the mech he was working on. "Spread out around the world and territorial with each other like nothing I've seen. Can't stand company of their own kind, the lot of them. Each has a mech base mode, an animal alt and that weird giant half-thing as a weapon mode. They have similar coding protocols set up where the different modes call on very different sets of core programming, but the personality is fundamentally the same. All femmes too, as far as we know.

"Alt mode is for relaxing, moving around and what you'll typically find Nightshade in; usually up on the barrack's roof if she's not with the Twins. It's pretty easy going, if on the skittish side. Very, very sharp senses.

"The only time she'll voluntarily be in base mode is when she's with the Twins their in quarters or really needs to use his hands. Everything else is under somebody's orders; mine, Jazz or Prime usually. She's learned that anytime she's under medical care, I expect base mode and no arguments, so you probably won't get grief here in medbay. She complies with First Aid so she'll comply with you once she knows you're a medic.

"You've met weapon mode. Big, ill-tempered, not much on processing beyond the 'threat/not threat' stage and too fraggin close to an unstoppable force with no sense of self preservation. Generally speaking, if that's coming at you, _run_. Preferably to Ironhide or Prime, since they can both stop her. The Twins if you have to, or in here. You have to really have fragged her off to get her to chase you in here. Well, unless you're really unlucky and trigger that sight-hound hunting protocols. Then you're lucky because she won't be angry any more, but there is no 'stop' code in it, so she'll chase until she catches you or you manage to lose her completely, or Ironhide stops her. Just ask Jazz what that one's like."

"Right," Jolt nodded, wondering just what this strange mech could have done to garner that kind of warning. "How fast can she go?"

Ratchet chuckled. "That's the good news. She tops out at just over two hundred miles per hour, so you should have an easy time ditching her. She has faster alt modes, but a lot of the hunter protocols are disabled in them."

"Thank Primus for small miracles," Jolt muttered. "How many alts does she use?"

"Regularly? Three," Ratchet set as he finished with the serious repairs and closed Nightshade up. "Most of the time she's in the one you saw. She's got a fast, sporty ground vehicle and an air fighter. I've heard talk of an underwater alt, but I'm not sure if she's actually gotten it yet."

"A Seeker?" Jolt raised an optic ridge.

"Not even close," Ratchet shook his head. "She's not even an Aerial; next to no code for it at all. She can fly as well as Tracks, maybe, and can't land worth scrap yet. Just refuses to accept it, so she keeps trying. Might be as good as a human without the physical limitations in a few vorn, but that's as much as she'll ever be. She makes a Pit-effective missile though."

Jolt nodded and watched as the odd mech was brought out of stasis. Golden optics lit brightly, nearly flared, before settling to a normal level.

"You can go, just one thing first," Ratchet did his best 'I am Primus here' impression. "Jolt is a medic in training. Got that?"

"Yes sir," Nightshade nodded quickly and made a quick escape when Ratchet didn't stop him.

(and that's all I wrote)


	27. Notes and Final Outline bits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't finish writing but this is what I had in mind for the rest.

The first weres:  
Death Watch (Nightshade, canine) has North America  
The Shadowed (Bloody Mary, bear) has Europe and the Middle East  
Fire Noble (Xipil, jaguar) has South America.  
Sea-Sky West (?) has the Pacific.  
Eastern Grace (dragon) has India/Asia.  
The Lioness (Kesia, lion) has Africa.  
East-Sea Victory (?) has the Atlantic, including the Gulf of Mexico  
First Warrior (?) has the waters south of India and between the Atlantic and Pacific.  
Outback (dromornis) has Australia.  
North Defender (tiger) has the inland territory between Eastern Grace and Bloody Mary -- Siberia.

Eventually there will be around 25 of them.

 

Remaining outline

After the third offering of metal Nightshade comes down right to the boarder of their territory with a dead Con near the coast on a sandy beach.

After consuming a few bites Fire Lord and Nightshade circle each other, actually crossing the territory lines a few times before launching at each other and going chest to chest, hands grappling and jaw snapping. Instead of fight they push and shove as their chests begin to interlock and grow. As the energy drains from them their chests separate, leaving a huge ball as large as they are between them while they stumbled back towards their territories and respective packs.

The ball has mostly uncurled by the time they get back across their line. The form is a mix of seal and large shark. It undulates like a seal to the pile and begins to chow down.

Ratchet's scan indicates that each adult lost roughly a third of their mass and half their energy, which is now in the new one. 

Before they try to approach it (having decided to let it eat first) it turns and lumbers towards the water, then disappears in it.

The new one takes over the Caribbean Ocean, Gulf of Mexico and a chunk of Central America (what's on the Caribbean tectonic plate).

When Nightshade gets home she begins eating and putting on weight again. It takes a year to get back to full mass and about then Sea-Sky West begins to court her, bringing metallic riches of the sea up for her. They create another new were-mech that slips into the sea.

She again regains her mass but doesn't create a 3rd time. At least not in the timeframe I have any thoughts about.

**Author's Note:**

> I used the fan-verse idea where the destruction of the Allspark turned a handful of humans into Transformers, Sam among them. I'm not actually using that fan-verse, just the idea it's based on. I have no clue where it originated, but props to the author(s).
> 
> Jazz survived.
> 
> Sideswipe is red. I don't care if he's silver in the movie. Sides wouldn't be Sides if he wasn't bright red, just like Sunstreaker wouldn't be Sunny if he wasn't that lovely bright yellow. Can you tell I'm a G1 gal?
> 
> Yes, I know. Another OC. First few fics in any fandom are like that. Getting them out of my skull and into the background so I can focus on the real characters. I still try to write an interesting story. At least this one isn't a hormone-crazed slut so there should be some mech/mech action with the established pairings.
> 
> "text" normal, audible to every speech  
> ::text:: radio communication. May or may not be scrambled and can be selectively delivered, though not typically and can be intercepted.  
> ~text~ bond/touch communication. Only available to the one receiving it.
> 
> solar cycle-a local day  
> lunar cycle-local month  
> stellar cycle-a local year  
> nanoklik-1 second  
> klik-1.2 minutes  
> breem-8.3 minutes (also an astrosecond)  
> joor-1 hour  
> cycle-1.25 hours  
> megacycle-2.6 hours  
> orn-a day on Cybertron (31 joor)  
> decaorn-10 Cybertronian days (a week)  
> decacycle-3 weeks (from IDW)  
> quartex-1 Earth month (G1)  
> ditex-a 'month' on Cybertron (200 orn, 20 decaorn)  
> metacycle-a year on Cybertron (1600 orn, 8 ditex, 5.66 years)  
> vorn-83 metacycles (469.63 years)  
> ganon-2,286 vorn/ 189,738 metacycles/ 1,073,580 years


End file.
